Retrograde
by Guardian Erin
Summary: PostChosen. While living in LA, the Scoobies run into a resurrected, amnesiac Spike. As much as they'd like to let him live a normal life, not intervening could get him killed. Adult. COMPLETE! PLEASE R&R TY
1. Changes

**For the purposes of this story, the Buffy cast is Post-Chosen, but the Angel cast has just found Fred. No Connor.**

**It should not have to be said, but I own nothing. All praise Joss.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

_i got all confused today._

_The doctors dont like it when i roam around. They try to keep me in my room, but i hate it. The only other option is to sit out in the game room with the mental patients and i hate that. Theyre all so quiet, i can never tell what's going on._

_im not a mental patient. Everyone else here is suicidal or schizo. im not like that. im only here cause i started puking up my medication yesterday. They thought i took too many pills, but i didnt. Why would i want to do that?_

_But i guess its alright: Dr. G admitted, 'Maybe the new medication is making you sick,' and also, 'We'll switch you to something else.'_

_im so tired of switching around, though. The medication __**always **__makes me sick but they say, 'its only in your head.' 'Why you got to be so stubborn, Galen?'_

_i dont like being told things are in my head, so i stopped complaining about it. Even though i still get real bad headaches and sometimes i feel like im going to hurl, i just sit it out, and they like that, cause im quiet and good._

_i wish i could do more than i do, but i cant. No one talks to me much; they usually have bad attitudes around her or theyre out pretty soon anyway. ive been here so long, there are only a couple other people that have been here this long. Why am i still here? i didnt hit anybody or nothing. ive been real good._

_Its this medication that makes me all sick. Maybe thats why I'm here. i cant remember._

_The old medication was okay, but it gave me nightmares a lot and made my skin crawl. im glad i got off of it, but now i cant remember things so good._

_i need to remember things. Its so important. i need to know how many steps up the stairs, how far to the bathroom, where the light switch is, where I set my book, which cabinet keeps the pudding, whose voice that is. Its not so easy when I can't see nothing._

_They promised me they could get my sight better, but it didn't work. They promised me id be in a world of blackness, but even that isn't true. All around me its dull blue or teal. i can see light come through those colors like sunlight through thick clouds._

_i know colors, i know things. __**im not stupid**__ They treat me like im stupid._

_i remember colors, cause i know i wasn't always blind. Thats all i know. i remember red, yellow, green, black and white. i know oceans and sand, i know trees and mountains, i know the cars and the buildings. i dream these things every night - how they looked and how they felt and smell. i told Dr. G but he says, 'No one dreams in color, Galen.'_

_These things arent just in my head._

_i remember how to write words. That hurts me most of all. They want me to learn to read Braille and write it. But it's so stupid. i know the words, i know poetry but i can't grasp it enough in my head to make it known. i don't want to relearn how to write._

_i used to grab pieces of paper and write things down (with the crayons that they keep for the coloring books). Things like, "not so bad" and "12 steps" but im too afraid to write down what these things really mean and id get too confused trying to write and end up throwing the paper away. _

_It was probably just scribbles anyway, because t cant see where I wrote before. The only thing good about crayons is, sometimes you can feel the wax where you wrote. Its good for drawing pictures. i wish i could see what colors i wrote in, so i could draw a picture with all the right colors. i could show them, __**i know how the world is. i'm not just stupid. Please help me.**_

_If only i could just see… even if it werent perfect vision, i'd be happy. i just want to be able to write and read normal books - whatever books i want, not first grade Braille books that i don't understand. It takes so long, trying to remember what the bumps mean. i know the words already in my head, and what they are. i'm not stupid. _

_i used to get so upset over all of this, i'd end up crying. But the doctors found out and they said, 'Galen, theres no reason to get upset over this,' and, 'Were not going to help you if all youre going to do is cry over it.'_

_Its too unbearable to think that they wont help me, so i stopped crying, and even if i do get upset sometimes i dont tell them cause i don't want them to think im ungrateful. i really am happy that they care enough to help me, but it gets so hard and sometimes im too sick to figure things out._

_i wish my head wasnt so foggy. i dont… i cant remember… but i don't think it used to be this hard to think things._

_If they keep changing my medication, ill never remember what i got to take. i need to memorize important things, like how many steps up the stairs._

* * *

In an apartment in LA, Buffy Summers was awake once again from a restless dream. She laid in bed for a long time, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her skin was flush with cooling sweat, and she was starting to shiver. 

No thoughts would come to her, and she was getting more confused as her mind slowly started to function. _Why was she awake?_

She remained puzzled for a long time before she finally remembered what the hell she was doing.

She'd had that dream again, the one where she's down in the Hellmouth with Spike and everything starts to crumble.

This time, however, she didn't run away. Even when Spike told her to go, she refused.

"_I belong here with you,_" she'd said in her dream, still grabbing his hand even as the flames spread.

Something along the lines of panic and regret tore at Buffy as the memory of the dream gripped her again.

Buffy quickly threw off the covers and got out of bed to escape.

_It was only a dream. I need a shower. Who cares if it's only four in the morning?_

* * *

"Are you quite alright by yourself?" Wesley questioned, helping with the books. 

"I'm fine, Wes," Willow smiled, brushing red hair from her face and tightening her grip on the stack of books. "I was possessed by the evil spirit of a fifteenth century witch; I didn't have a heart attack."

"I think it was the cackling that did him in, baby," her girlfriend, Kennedy, replied.

"Mm," they smiled at each other and went to bring the books to their car.

"Thanks, Kennedy," the redhead plopped the books into the backseat while the brunette held the door for her. Willow picked up a pink book and looked at the couple embracing each other on the cover. "Danielle Steele? Um, what does a romance novel have to do with research on witches?"

"Oh, that was mine," Kennedy replied. "I'm all done with it, so we can take it back to the library with the rest."

"You're very sneaky."

"Not really," Kennedy replied playfully. "I don't mind if you know about it. After all, I've seen you naked before. Not much further to go after that."

"You've seen me fully charged with magic before. That goes beyond nakedness, you know. That's totally different."

"And I shared that with you," Kennedy grinned triumphantly. "So a romance novel can't hurt. Why don't we take out some new ones when we return those?"

"A romance book?" Willow frowned. "I don't know. Why don't I just pretend to be Scarlett O'Hara?"

"Don't even tempt me," Kennedy laughed. "I'm serious, though; it'll be fun. Maybe we can find a book that involves two lesbian witches. And if the library doesn't have it we can always go to an adult bookstore."

"You make it sound like that's a good thing."

"It'd be more interesting than those dull books," Kennedy shrugged. "But it's only a suggestion. If you're not comfortable, there's no way in hell we'll do it. I'll stick to the kissy groping stories for life."

Willow shut the car door. "I just think that those places are a little unclean."

"They're meant to be dirty," Kennedy misunderstood Willow intentionally. "Have you ever been to one? They're just like any other store except they sell naughty, fun things."

"I'm not saying yes but I'm not saying no either."

"So you're saying…?"

"I'm saying let's wait another night and you can try to talk me into it."

"I'll agree to that," Kennedy cupped Willow's cheek and stole a kiss. "As long as my baby's happy, so am I."

"You're too sweet."

"I know," Kennedy pulled away slightly and sighed dramatically. "You're rubbing off on me."

"Hey Wil! Kennedy!" Buffy jogged over to her friends, trying to catch an annoying strand of blonde hair that had escaped her short ponytail. She looked rushed, and excited. It'd taken her a while, but Buffy seemed to have gotten a new livelieness back.

"Where's Angel?"

"Inside somewhere," Kennedy replied vaguely.

"Possibly brooding," Willow added with a nod. "Or polishing something sharp and dangerous."

"Right," Buffy held back an unimpressed smile. "Again, it's amazing how little vampires change."

"I know," Willow sympathized, and then made her classic 'ooh!' face as she remembered something important to ask. "Did Dawn bring in her report card yet?"

"Ooh! Yeah," Buffy grinned suddenly, mimicking Willow's expression. "I almost forgot about that. Shame on me."

"How'd she do?" Willow asked expectantly.

"Did you guys realize Dawn is a little genius?" Buffy snorted. "A's and B's. It's a miracle."

"Our Dawn? Are we sure it's not a robot?" Kennedy asked.

"Don't get me started on robots," Buffy sighed.

"I think the lack of constant death has had a good effect on her," Willow offered.

"Yeah, but she told me she's been having some trouble with a girl in her class. Apparently she's a real bitch."

Kennedy looked unfazed. "Who's the bitch? Dawn or the girl?"

"The girl. She's been giving Dawn a hard time," Buffy explained. "As the story goes, this chick 'Monica' thinks Dawn is moving in on her boyfriend, and Dawn told me she doesn't even like the guy."

"Paranoid minds," Willow stated.

"Yup," Buffy rocked on her heels and then remembered that she hadn't asked her friends what was up with them. "Oh, right…How are you doing, Willow?"

"Good!" Willow beamed and then frowned. "Now that I'm not spewing curses and hurting my friends."

"What's a curse or two between friends? At least this time… Well, nothing _really_ bad happened."

Willow pouted. "Buffy, I turned Xander into a frog."

"Yes, but then he turned right back," Buffy quickly added. "Look, it's all over so don't worry about it. All I had to do was give froggy Xander a kiss. Which was gross, by the way. And his skin was only green for a little while afterwards, right? I mean, I've been turned into a rat before. That's a little traumatizing, but I turned out fine. He loves you too much to hold any grudges and you know that. Now gimme a hug and then I have to go talk to Angel."

Willow hugged her friend quickly, always surprised by how hard Buffy could squeeze when she got excited, even though her girlfriend was also a slayer.

"What's the rush?"

"I got a job," Buffy blurted with a laugh. "Yup. I can work while Dawn is in school and be home a little while after she gets out of class, so she won't be alone all day."

"That's great, Buffy!"

"Yeah, I'm really glad that you've got things straightened out," Kennedy chipped in.

"Thanks guys," Buffy was positively glowing with happiness.

"So where are you working?" Willow asked, curious.

"I'm going to be a security guard," Buffy said proudly.

"That sounds exciting," Willow kept a smile, trying to be supportive. It didn't matter that she thought the job was dreadful; if Buffy was happy then it was the best job in the world.

"It will be," Buffy said, still giddy. "I'll get to protect people. But I bet it'll mostly be boring. It's going to be great! Anyway, I've got to go let the others know the good news. I'll let you guys go do the book thing."

"Okay," Willow let Buffy go by. "Take care."

"Caring," Buffy affirmed, turning on heel and entering the Hyperion. "Woo, knock-knock. Anybody home?"

"Ah, Miss Summers," Wesley stepped out of his office quickly, a book in hand and his glasses in the other. "What, uh, brings you to our offices?"

"Wes… I come here every other day."

"Right," Wesley sighed, deflated. "Angel is in his office."

"Brooding, huh?"

"That is the most suitable term that comes to mind, yes."

"Thanks, Wesley," Buffy walked through the lobby and rapped softly on Angel's  
office door.

"I'm busy."

"You are?" Buffy raised an eyebrow at the door and glanced over at Wesley as the watcher left.

"I'm – I'm brooding."

"Uh-huh. It's Buffy. Can't I come in for a little while?"

"Uh… I don't know…"

Buffy opened the door anyway and entered Angel's office, greeted by a sheepish look. She looked at him and then across the room at a small television set.

"You're brooding but you're watching hockey?"

"My team's loosing," Angel explained with a hand gesture towards the TV.

"I liked the non-game-watching, non-television-owning Angel better," Buffy frowned. "Never should have let Cordelia talk you into buying one."

"It's good to be up to date," Angel shifted to sit upright in his chair. "And she's right, you know – apparently a lot of people watch television."

"Yeah, all of the kids are doing it," Buffy rolled her eyes and then laughed at him. "That stuff has been around for years, Angel."

"I'm slow to catch on to fads," Angel protested weakly.

"You do have a computer, so you get brownie points," Buffy shrugged, sitting down on the edge of his desk. "Aren't you going to ask me what's up?"

"But… my team is starting to score."

"Angel."

"Right," Angel muted the TV and tried to look sincerely interested. "What's up?"

"Well, for starters I secured a job."

"That's great, Buffy. Uh, does it involve nudity?"

"No," Buffy shook her head quickly. "No nudity, or anything revealing. I'm actually going to be in uniform. A _nice, _respectable uniform. I'm going to become a security guard."

"Where?"

"At the hospital," Buffy looked somewhat embarrassed.

"The hospital," Angel repeated.

"Yes! I know what you're thinking, but it's not that bad. I figure I'll only have to wrassle some crazies once in a while," Buffy explained. "Plus, it's a really quick drive."

"Right. Only about four miles from here."

"Yup," Buffy nodded. "It's almost scary to be so close. But on the bright side, I'll know the ins and outs of the place. I'll be the first to find out if there's an evil doctor sharing bodies with a hell bitch, or a demon murdering children. Plus, if there's ever an emergency I'll get there wicked fast. But I'm hoping the only thing I'll be doing is running out for some doughnuts."

"I thought you hated hospitals."

"I really do," Buffy sighed. "But after getting turned down everywhere else, I can deal. At least I can try it until some tragedy forces me to turn in my badge. I get a badge."

Cordelia tapped on the doorway and came inside with a cup of something. "Oh, it's you," her cheery smile fell when she saw the other woman. "Hi, Buffy, I didn't see you walk in."

"I got here while Willow and Kennedy were leaving."

"Can't a guy brood in privacy anymore?" Angel sighed, shutting off his game.

"Of course you can't, especially when you have a girlfriend like me," Cordelia smiled. "A fantastic, beautiful girlfriend, in case you need to be reminded. One who snaps you out of your moody broods and bribes you with steamy hot cups of blood to get your vampire ass out there and making me some money. I mean… saving innocents and the rest of mankind. I'm sorry, did you want something, Buffy?"

"You're proud enough, aren't you?" Buffy snorted with a pout. "You can't even be modest about stealing my ex."

"Nope," Cordelia gave a cheeky grin and Angel hesitantly drank the contents of the mug.

"I don't mean to be a bitch, but I'm not going to pity you because you're stupid enough to let Angel go. Well, I do pity you for dating that asshole, Ray. You didn't deserve that crud. Just remember that Angel is mine, so keep your soul-snatching paws away from him."

"Yeesh," Buffy held up her hands. "Paws way over here, not touching nor stealing souls. I just wanted to share the joy with Angel, seeing as he is my platonic male friend."

"What joy?"

"So very true," Buffy snorted, untying her short blonde hair and shaking it out sos he could fix it. "I finally got a job."

"Ooh, that's great! Burger hell again?"

"Nope. I'm going to be enforcing the law and protecting innocents from the hands of ailing psychotics."

"That sounds cool," Cordelia offered.

"Eh. I'm going to be a security guard at a hospital," Buffy started to tie her hair back into a neat ponytail. "Picture me restraining belligerent elderly women who refuse to take their medication."

"Oh. Now it sounds kind of icky. But hey, anything beats the grease pit."

"My thoughts exactly," Buffy nodded.

"Except I can't picture you in a uniform. Only ugly chicks wear uniforms. I mean, for a living."

"I can be pretty and safety-enforcing at the same time," Buffy scowled, offended. "Everyone says I'd make a good cop, anyway. Giles has been supportive and Dawn sure seems to think so, and Spi-" Buffy hesitated at the pain that deadened Angel's eyes, causing the older vampire to frown slightly. "Well… he was on the same page with Dawn. Everyone thinks I can be a strict bitch so why not roll with it? I'm surprised you haven't looked toward law enforcement."

"Do you get a handgun?" Cordelia questioned.

"Uh, I don't think so. Even if I did, I doubt I'd use it."

"Taser at least?"

"Dunno."

"Well, your job sucks."

"I haven't been into training yet," Buffy shrugged helplessly. "But it can't be so hard. They said they'd let me have a few days to get used to it and show me the ropes. They almost laughed me off until I showed them how much I could bench press."

Cordelia sighed. "Exceptions are always made for a slayer and her freakish strenghth. I guess you can't always get by on brains like the rest of us."

Buffy watched Cordelia walk out of the office, mouth gaping. "Did she just insult me?"

Angel sighed and fidgeted. "She does that."

"Some girlfriend!"

"I'm sorry. Look, Buffy, if you needed a job I would have been willing to hire you even part-time as part of the team."

"No way," Buffy held up her hand, sliding off of his desk. "I don't want to do that anymore. My town is a crater and I have the right to choose if I want to be a slayer. I'm not going to refuse to help, but I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. The rest of you can do as you will but I'm trying to move on. I've told you before, Angel, I'm willing to help you when I'm needed but I don't feel comfortable being paid to do something like that. Besides, it always complicates things. I think Dawn is settling down, and she'd happy that I'm not risking my life anymore. Things are good this way."

"You're right," Angel agreed, leaning back in defeat. "But if you ever need help, I'm here for you. Remember that."

Buffy nodded, walking to the door. "I always do."

* * *

"I don't want any romance books," Willow hissed at her girlfriend. 

"Well I do," Kennedy pouted innocently. "Please?"

"Kennedy," Willow fussed as the slayer started to walk away. She was next in line to renew a book she wanted on eighteenth century magic.

"I'll only be a minute," Kennedy replied with a deceitfully reassuring smile.

"Kennedy, don't…" Willow watched her girlfriend leave and sighed as the dark-haired girl happily wandered off into stacks and more stacks of books.

Kennedy browsed through the romance section, easily eliminating half of the shelf from the get-go. She picked through the books, wincing every time she pulled out a cover showing a man with long, flowing hair and 'perfect' muscles, usually well-tanned and foreign looking.

Even if she were straight, that type of a man wouldn't cut it for her. She preferred guys with shorter hair for sure, and that had nothing at all to do with being a military brat.

She glanced over at a man running his fingers over a row of magazines. Now there was a better looking guy. Short brown hair, handsome, and no Fabio at all. She only shrugged a little when the guy left to take his son out of the children's section. Whatever.

Kennedy pulled out a random book and seriously studied it, trying to figure out if she could overcome a weak plot for all of the underlying romance it claimed to hold. She didn't notice any other customers until someone brushed by her, another no-name tall, dark and handsome. Okay, so not so tall, but taller than her. Not so dark…at all. But still very handsome, and that compensated.

"Excuse me," he whispered, head down as if he was too bashful to look at her. He seemed familiar, but then, Kennedy had seen a lot of guys, even tried to date a few. The dating fiascos did nothing more than confirm that she was born to be a lesbian.

Mr. No-Name moved on until he made it to the audiotapes at the far end of the aisle.

Guys, it seemed, had it fairly well worked out. They could skip through over three fourths of the library by renting something which would free them from actually having to sit down and read a single word. Heaven forbid if they admitted they were literate, or if any of them actually liked words. Well, Wesley, Giles, and Angel did… but they didn't count.

Kennedy walked away to the other side of the shelf and chose a book that seemed to have intelligent characters and an unlikely Mr. Right that she made an exception for. She didn't realize how much time she spent standing there until Willow had located her girlfriend.

"What are you looking at?" Willow asked, peeking at the cover.

"I don't think they have anything our style," Kennedy told her girlfriend apologetically. "No lesbians and no ritual orgies."

"Darn," Willow smiled a little. "You'd think someone would get the hint. Well, are we still inviting the friends over for movie and an orgy later?"

"If you want to," Kennedy laughed, glancing towards the aisle, but the man had moved on.

"Well, let's go check that one out if you _really_ want it."

"I _really_ want it," Kennedy replied, following her girlfriend through the shelves towards the library checkout. "It's weird, actually. This guy bumped into me, and he was pretty cute."

"You're right, that _is_ weird," Willow paused to hold Kennedy's hand. "First you check out straight romance novels, and now you're checking out guys…. Do I have to fight to keep you? Because I will, if that's what it takes."

"I'm not interested in him or anything," Kennedy snorted, smiling despite herself. "But he was a cute guy."

"Like George Clooney cute or the young Anakin Skywalker illegal-for-you-to-be-thinking-about cute?"

"Neither. I don't know. They say that women are attracted to men that resemble their father."

"Okay, that was a little creepy. Is there something you need to tell me?" Willow gave Kennedy a look.

"What? Er, no. I just mean, my father always kept a high-and-tight haircut and the guy I saw reminded me of that. I think shaved heads are pretty cool. That's all. Let's just check this book out."

"Okay," Willow agreed, bumping Kennedy teasingly as they walked. "If I shaved my head, would you find me attractive?"

"I'd lick you all over," Kennedy purred in return, nipping Willow's neck while the witch giggled.


	2. Surviving

**Author's warning: This chapter contains references to suicidal behavior in some places. If you feel that this might set you off, please don't read, or skip over those parts.**

**I should also mention that I don't know much about Good Samaritan Hosptial, other than that it looks like a really nice place. Anything I write about it should be taken as a work of fiction, although I did some research . I don't even know if they have a psych ward. This is simply a setting for the story.**

* * *

Green ooze dripped off of the ax's razor edge, plopping onto the floor. 

"Is it dead?" Cordelia questioned.

Gunn walked over to the freshly decapitated demon, poked it with his shoe and then kicked the body. The severed head rolled away from the body, trailing green blood behind it. "Looks dead enough to me."

Angel let out a breath of relief and tossed aside the ax. "Good. That sucker put up a fight."

"Tell me about it," Cordelia snorted, following after Angel as he left the warehouse.

"Tone down the drama a notch?" Wesley frowned, picking up the messy ax. "We don't have an unlimited supply of these."

"And that's why they went out of style," Cordelia replied. "Some day we'll make them disposable."

"Why is the blood always green?" Angel grumbled, wiping at his hands.

"Maybe because monster movies really do have a root in truth?" Cordelia guessed.

"Possibly," Angel stood beside the manhole and took Cordelia's hand.

"Gosh, such a gentleman," Cordelia teased, finding the first rung on the internal ladder. "But does 'ladies first' really apply here?"

Nevertheless, Cordelia dropped into the sewers without further comment, flicking on her flashlight. Gunn came after her, Wesley following suit and then Angel climbed down and pulled the manhole cover back in place.

* * *

"So I'm going to be a security guard," Buffy finished happily. 

Dawn rolled her eyes and went to refill her ice water.

"That's wonderful, Buffy," Giles nodded on the other line, motioning to the book Wesley was searching for.

"Yup, I guess so."

"I imagine that doesn't pay an extraordinary amount of money."

"No, not really. But it beats the hell out of the Doublemeat Palace, and I get a much better uniform. At least I'll be able to pay the bills."

"Yes, I suppose so. I'm glad to see you're coping with the material world well."

"Why shouldn't I be? I'm bound to survive or fail, and I'm not failing just yet."

"That's wonderful, Buffy."

Buffy made a face as she suspected that Giles wasn't listening anymore. "I'm mostly employed to bring the other guys doughnuts."

"Fantastic. No, not that one. Try the text on cross-dimensional portal phenomena."

"And…" Buffy sighed, listening to Wesley chatter in the background of the phone. "The uniform they gave me is really cute. Very low cut top… short skirt. You can see practically everything. They really loved it when I put it on."

"Mmhmm."

"And they were very nice to me when I did my sexy dance."

"…What?"

"A joke, Giles. You're not listening."

"I'm… sorry. Wesley is over and we were trying to find something. He believes I may have a certain text in my private collection…."

"Sounds great," Buffy muttered.

"Were you saying something about a… _sexy dance_?"

"A joke, Giles!" Buffy repeated quickly. "Anyway, I have to go. I've got homework to do. They gave me this handbook on proper protocol and stuff."

"I'll let you go, then. I'm quite busy as well."

"Don't wear Wesley out," Buffy teased before she hung up the phone.

"You have a handbook?" Dawn asked, flopping onto the couch with a bowl of chips. "Lame."

Buffy frowned. "Well it's – I have to know the basics, you know? Half of this will never apply to me."

"Sure it will. You've been recruited to the Dork Patrol."

"It's not a Dork Patrol. At the most I'll have to watch out for some unruly psych ward escapee, or maybe some guy who comes in with a gun to demand health care. Today was super boring. Mostly, I just sat at the desks in the main office and then the chief showed me the surveillance room and outlined my duties. They're going to give me a chance to secure a license before they give me a uniform. I get to take another CPR class and learn how to properly arrest someone."

"That sounds fun."

"Yup. And if I go for another license I get to carry a gun, or beat people with a baton," Buffy beamed. "It's good to be me."

"I thought you didn't believe in guns," Dawn gave her sister a skeptical look.

"I don't. But a big stick? Hell yeah!"

"What does it take to get a permit for that?"

"I'm not sure, but until then I'm just fine being unarmed. It shouldn't take me too long to get a paycheck."

"Hey, that's great. At least you're having fun with it."

"Yup. Some of those guys were really nice, too. They're all way older than me and they kind of think I'm over my head about this."

Dawn laughed aloud. "Yeah. She who has saved the world more times than I'll ever know can't handle a job as a security guard. You were born for it."

"I'm not sure if that is a compliment, but thanks for the thought," Buffy pushed aside Dawn's feet and sat down on the couch with her sister. "Did you finish all of _your_ homework?"

"Are you going to beat me up if I didn't?"

"Maybe."

Dawn sighed. "I'll go do it."

"There's my busy beaver. Get me some more chips, while you're up."

* * *

_  
doctor g says i have to start writing things in braille. _

i think this sucks.

he says he wont read it.

good.

he says that this is just so i can see my improvements.

im not stupid.

i know i cant write good when i dont know all the letters and things yet.

he says just try anyways.

so i did.

* * *

"I just get upset when I think everyone's against me," Valerie finished, wiping her eyes with a tissue. She was no longer sniveling, but her eyes were still damp. 

"No one is against you," the group leader assured her, trying to sound sincere. "We're all just here to help, and to heal. Is there anyone else who can relate to Valerie? No? Alright. Would anyone like to go next?"

Blank faces stared back at her, some too disinterested to even look at the other group members. The room was a little cold, and it didn't help that they were all sitting on folding metal chairs in the middle of a tiled floor. The only thing that offered a bit of protection against the chill were the thin hospital slippers and the soft pajama-style hospital clothes.

"Galen?" her gaze fell on him, as unsettling as the unnatural orange color of her hair. "I know that you still haven't participated."

Galen was void of expression, hidden behind black sunglasses. Underneath them, he was trying to imagine the outside world again. His mind's eye had been picturing tall trees, colored with autumn. The image dissipated when the nurse called his name.

"I don't like getting touchy-feely."

"Those are ugly words, Galen. Everyone here can safely express their feelings. This isn't for hating, this is for understanding. Fear will cripple your progress."

"I only talk to Dr. Grier," Galen said, ignoring her deceptively flowing words.

"Nurse Reids," Sarah's timid voice spoke up. She was a very slender girl with pale skin and stringy, raven-colored hair that made her look unhealthy. Galen didn't know precisely _what_ she looked like, but he could recognize her hesitant voice anywhere. He acted somewhat of a protective older brother for her - an instinct, he swore, but she couldn't be swayed from feeling special. He didn't work any harder at convincing her she wasn't.

"Galen isn't here for the same reasons we are," Sarah said, reminding everyone of their self-destructive tendencies. "He shouldn't be forced to participate in the group."

Galen liked that girl a lot. She didn't mind letting him hold onto her hand - didn't see it as a weakness. She helped him if he needed it, without question or pity or any unnecessary crap. She hadn't flinched when he felt the scars on the inside of her wrist, had even explained to him that she was in the hospital for 'loosing it' with a box cutter.

"Thank you, Sarah. But Galen is here with us, and as part of the group, he has to participate. Maybe he doesn't have the same issues as the rest of the group, but he still has problems that he needs to talk about." Nurse Reids looked at Galen directly while she spoke; he certainly felt the stare, could hear her words coming directly at him. "How did your eye surgery go?"

Galen tensed, immediately angry by the casual mention of the surgery. They knew that he obviously wasn't any better than before. Nurse Reids was just being a bitch to him, because he hated group therapy. But he refused to show emotion.

"They cut my eyes open, poked around for a bit and did absolutely jack to help," he answered curtly. "How was your hysterectomy?"

* * *

"I don't see how you can read that stuff," Willow sighed, watching Kennedy pour over a new book. 

"I find the dramatic romance hysterical," Kennedy replied. "But the gushy love scenes can be hot. I was planning on mocking them, and acting them out with you."

"Oh?" Willow raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Kennedy grinned mischievously. "Like this scene here. Where the main character seduces the beautiful maiden."

"And how does your main character go about doing that?" Willow asked innocently.

Kennedy set down the cruddy romance book and pinned her girlfriend against the kitchen counter. "Well, she finds the innocent little maiden and decides to be bad and kiss her senseless while they were all alone in the big empty house."

Willow shivered under Kennedy's lips. "Did she take the innocent little witch to the bedroom and have her wicked way with her?"

"Goodness, no!" Kennedy cried, some mockery in her voice. "Romance novels don't do that sort of thing. Those are the naughty, dirty books that are only sold in certain stores."

Willow wished she had a wall to bash her head against. "What would they do in these types of books?"

"I don't know, I haven't read one," Kennedy teased wickedly, letting up when it looked like Willow was going to throttle her. "But I'm betting that it would involve a bottle of chocolate syrup, some silk scarves, and a lot of lacking in the clothes department."

"Show me?" Willow challenged with a coy smile.

* * *

"Bacon, lettuce, tomato for Gunn," Fred said, setting out the lunch for the gang. "Salad for Cordy. Thai for Lorne. Here ya go." 

"Thanks, Fredikins."

"You're welcome, kind sir. Ham Italian for Wesley," Fred gave Wesley his sandwich, both exchanging shy smiles.

"And tacos for me!" Fred finished happily, setting her Taco Bell bag in front of her.

"Girl eats a boatload of tacos," Gunn muttered, watching Fred eagerly open the bag and start to devour the first taco, laughing nervously when she got sauce and tomatoes all over the table.

"At least she's talking to us now," Angel reminded Gunn, watching Fred and wondering how she could eat the greasy food. He felt sick just watching her, but she made anything look cute. He sipped at the blood in his coffee mug thoughtfully.

* * *

"Welcome to the Good Samaritan Hospital." 

Buffy's eyes boggled slightly, staring at the nurse in vivid purple scrubs. The girl was smiling sweetly… and the lobby was very nice looking.

"Buffy," the chief of security spotted her, an elder gentleman with graying hair. His badge said, "Braham, R." He wore his uniform in its entirety; Buffy only had a shirt and slacks from the uniform, since they didn't want her to look like a security guard until she was a real one.

"Hello," Buffy smiled, shaking his hand.

"This is Charlene Linden," he said, indicated the nurse in purple scrubs. "Charlene, this is Buffy Summers. Buffy is going to be training to become a security guard here at Good Sam."

"Nice to meet you," Charlene smiled sweetly, with freckled cheeks.

Buffy smiled nervously in return. "Sorry, I'm just a bit… Hospitals aren't my thing. But I can get over it-"

"I understand," Braham assured her. "Lots of people are afraid of hospitals. Bad experience?"

"You could say that," Buffy shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, you can feel right at home at Good Sam," Charlene spoke up. "This is one of the best hospitals you'll find anywhere. We're at the very front of the pack with most of the medical fields, which isn't to say that the our other specializations aren't outstanding as well."

Buffy laughed politely with her, still nervous.

"You'll get used to it, soon," Braham told Buffy. "Good Sam is a very wonderful place to work. The employee services alone are to die for. Let me show you around the floor, then we'll let you live out the day of a security guard. How far are along with getting those licenses?"

"I'm doing very well in the class," Buffy said, walking down the hell with Braham, while Charlene went back to her duties. "Uh, I'll have all the right qualifications in no time. And did I ever mention how grateful I am that you're giving me this opportunity?"

Braham chuckled. "Only about twenty times. And truth is, we're a bit low right now. We just lost a few of our old employees - retirement, and a career change. It's nice to see some fresh blood around here. I like to encourage the younger generation, if they find something they like and are willing to work at it."

"I'm totally willing to work at it," Buffy smiled. "I'm a - a busy little worker bee."

"Uh-huh. Down this way, we've got the cardiology unit. One of four, actually. Good Sam is pleased to have one of the finest cardiology departments in the nation."

* * *

"You better stay away from Josh, you little slut." 

Dawn stared at the nappy-haired girl who wouldn't leave her alone. "For the last time, I don't even know the guy."

"That's not what Christina Ryan said."

"Look, Monica, I really don't know who this Josh guy is," Dawn said to her. "And I don't care what Christina said - I haven't been checking out any guys since I moved here."

Monica gave Dawn a once-over and made a disgusted face. "You better not. I don't wanna see you anywhere near my man. Lesbian."

Dawn sighed deeply, shifting her backpack on her shoulder while she waited for Giles to come pick her up. "Maybe I _should_ just become a lesbian."

* * *

Willow was startled when Dawn came home unexpectedly. Unexpectedly? It was three in the afternoon. Crap! 

"Hi, Wills," Dawn said, dropping her backpack on the couch.

"Uh… uh… hi Dawnie," Willow stammered nervously. "Did, uh, Giles pick you up alright?"

"Yeah," Dawn said slowly, staring at Willow. Willow flinched, smiled nervously and very inconspicuously tried to cover up the hickies on her neck.

"Uh… Kennedy was taking a nap, so I…. There's food in the fridge."

Dawn continued to stare as Willow practically bolted to the bedroom. She finally shook her head and went to get a soda from the small kitchen. LA sure as hell wasn't Sunnydale. She couldn't take a stake to school with her, so Buffy made sure that she knew how to make a pencil lethal.

"Hi, Dawn," Kennedy said when she came back. Willow still looked skittish, but Kennedy didn't care that she looked how she felt - sexed up and satisfied.

"You guys have fun with your midday hanky-panky?" Dawn asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I- " Willow laughed nervously, "We didn't…"

"We got a little rough," Kennedy replied blandly.

"Kennedy," Willow whined helplessly. "Dawn's only sixteen for pete's sake."

"Seventeen next month," Dawn said. "And I should be driving myself to school."

"Cars are expensive to run," Kennedy said. "You could be catching the bus."

"The horrors of high school," Dawn shuddered.

"Giles is pretty cool for an old guy."

"My friends don't see it that way," Dawn sighed. "I'm already some sot of dweeb. It's better than being accused of being a slut, I guess."

"A slut? Dawnie…."

"I haven't even made eyes with any of the guys here!" Dawn laughed bitterly. "It's all just Monica and that bitch Christina. If they were vampires, oohhhh boy. Maybe their succubae."

"I'll pierce your lip for you," Kennedy offered. "Do up your nose and your ears, too. It'll be sore for a while, but it'll easily get you into the 'outsider' or 'goth' crowd."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Sure. I'll just do it right down at the shop."

"No!" Willow cried. "No piercing a-anything. Kennedy, we promised when you got that job - Buffy no punching holes in Dawn."

"If I can convince Buffy?" Dawn questioned.

"I… don't drag me into this," Willow begged. "You're fine the way you are."

"I think Kennedy's right, though. I need to dislodge myself from the mainstream society. If I start wearing just enough black and strip all of the frilly stuff out of my wardrobe, I'll be set. Let's face it; I'm not much of a girly girl. Not anymore," Dawn shuddered.

"Slayers kick ass," Kennedy shrugged, starting to rummage for a post-nookie snack.

"How is it for you guys?" Dawn asked. "I mean, being with girls? Better than guys?"

"Much better," Kennedy answered quickly. "Guys always want to be on top."

Willow was blushing. "I don't think we should be discussing this kind of thing. Why do you ask, Dawnie?"

"You used to date Oz," Dawn pointed out.

"Oz was a good guy," Willow hedged. "He was sweet and thoughtful. Not very much like the male population in general, come to think of it. But Tara was also sweet and thoughtful. And Kennedy has been known to be sweet… and caring."

"I'll always look after my witchy Willow," Kennedy promised.

Willow smiled. "Why do you ask, Dawn?"

Dawn shrugged. "I just think that Monica won't be such a bitch if she knows I'm not interested in guys period. But then she might freak out and start telling me to stop staring at her chest or something. And can I say 'yuck?'"

"Dawn, I don't think that changing your… your romantic interests is the way to handle a bully," Willow said. "And are you really interested in girls? And hey! You should be romancing your textbook, n-not any boys… or girls…. Just say no."

"I don't know what I'm interested in," Dawn sighed. "But the guys surely aren't doing much enticing."

"You should be discussing this with Buffy," Willow said. "I really don't think that this is appropriate for us to talk about."

"Don't decide anything," Kennedy suggested. "Just be yourself. Willow and I have both dated guys before, but we settled on each other, because we know we like each other. Just follow your heart and date whoever the hell makes you the happiest girl in the world. I'll back you up."

"Thanks," Dawn smiled. "Hey, could you pierce my lip anyway?"

"Er, sorry kiddo," Kennedy gave her a look. "You're going to need parent or guardian permission."

* * *

"The medication they put me on once made me nauseous, too," Sarah said. She let Galen hold her arm while they walked. He didn't use the cane, partly because he hated it, and partly because her trusted her enough not to bother. She liked being near him; he was nice to her and didn't mind when she started to chatter. In fact, she was pretty sure he liked the chatter. He told her once that silence gave him anxiety, so she made sure that things were never silent for too long. 

"Sometimes doctors don't look into the other medications, so they don't really know how a new pill is going to react with different pills," Sarah explained. "I gained a lot of weight on one pill before they finally took me off of it. Not that you'd notice now; I'm as skinny as a twig, or so they say. The medicine merry-go-round is always fun. Some pills make you hallucinate like bad - which might be fun for you, since you can't see. Except it's not fun to see a floor of writhing mice, either. Other medication will completely fuck up your moods."

"Sarah," a nurse scolded lightly as she passed by. "Don't use that sort of language."

"Sorry," Sarah smiled sheepishly. "I'm just taking Galen for a walk."

"That's nice of you," the nurse said, and then continued on.

"Most of the nurses here are really good," Sarah told Galen. "I've been here before, a few times."

"So have I."

"Their nurses are pretty sweet, in general. Last time I was here, being treated for O.D., they weren't so… I think 'tough love' is the word."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"O.D."

"The suicide attempts?" Sarah kept her voice very hushed, because talking about things like that in the psych ward was worse than swearing. There were too many patients who could be set off with that kind of conversation. She led Galen to a more secluded part of the hall, where they could sit at the window.

"I don't know," Sarah said, brushing her long black hair over her shoulder. "Things aren't so great, you know? I can't handle a normal job because I'll freak out, and I can't keep a relationship because guys don't want a mental chick. It's bad enough that I'm not so pretty, but they blame me for how I feel. I don't know why I do it. When I'm cutting myself to death or swallowing pills, it's because I just _don't care_.

His hand squeezed hers and she squeezed back hesitantly.

"Don't do that anymore. Promise me…. I like you. If you ever kill yourself, I'll hate you."

"I like you, too," Sarah told him, feeling a bit teary but not letting any drops fall. "You get it. I've seen you. You know what it's like, when nothing makes any sense."

"Don't hurt yourself anymore. Please."

"I won't. I promise."

* * *

**Stop. Please gimme some love. Thank you. Read on.**


	3. Progressing

**If you haven't already noticed, this story is completely unbeta'd.  
I apologize for any dumb mistakes. It happens.**

* * *

Willow woke up to the sounds of typing. Bleary-eyed, she got out of bed and went to go see who was in the living room. 

The place was dark, with the exception of a lamp and the glow of the computer screen.

"Buffy," Willow said sleepily.

"Oh," Buffy looked up, a pencil behind her ear. "Hi Wil. Did I wake you?"

"Not really, I gotta go pee," Willow answered. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I'm not up early, I never went to sleep," Buffy replied, giving the clock a guilty glance. Three in the morning.

"You're still _up_?" Willow asked. "Buffy, you need to get some sleep."

"What I need is to pass these courses," Buffy replied, determined. "I'm usually pretty bad at studying, or working towards a goal. The sooner I get the base credentials, the sooner I can start working at Good Sam."

"Good Sam?" Willow echoed, confused. "Oh, the hospital."

"It's not _just_ a hospital. It's one of the best hospitals, and there are plenty of other people who already have this stuff under their belt. Anyone could just waltz right in and take the position as a security person. If anyone shows up with even a week of experience, or who knows Spanish, I'm royally screwed. I don't want to work at Starbucks for the rest of my life."

"Can I go pee before we start discussing the pros and cons of your career path?" Willow asked, quickly heading off to the bathroom.

Buffy looked over her manual again. Uniform, gun maintenance, and the apparent complexities of keeping a look-out. There were procedures she had to know, and a lot of it was boggling. She wondered if Braham would be nice enough to explain some of I to her, because text books weren't her thing.

Willow finally came back and sat down on the couch. "How are you?"

"I've got a headache," Buffy sighed, setting the book down.

"You need to take a break," Willow said. "The computer screen's gonna kill your eyes."

"Lucky for me, Good Sam's got one of the best eye care facilities," Buffy groaned. "I need this job. I like helping people."

"I know you do, Buff."

"I can learn how to do this, but text books make everything in my brain ache. If they were to test me, like with an emergency situation, I can _totally_ handle that. Armed robber? No problem."

"Armed robber? At the hospital?"

"Someone might steal babies," Buffy shrugged. "Or blood. Vampire blood bank robbers."

Willow bit her tongue to keep from bursting out laughing. Boy, she was tired. "You should ask Xander about this stuff. He's… manly."

"Xander? What does Xander know?"

"Xander knows stuff," Willow defended. "He's been a very successful construction guy, right? He can help you study, without the brain achy. I'm sure he'll let you practice arresting him."

"Xander in handcuffs," Buffy giggled. She was tired, too. "He might like that too much."

"He can discuss the basics back and forth with you. Things usually make more sense when you talk them out. That military thing might help out, since you'll have to be disciplined, non-flaky girl for this job," Willow added. "Plus, he just really needs someone to talk to. You should spend your day off with him."

"Good ideas, Wil," Buffy nodded. "Xander and I can do some… male bonding."

* * *

"I believe we have to admit defeat," Wesley sighed. 

"I concur," Giles poured some scotch into a glass. "It seems I do not own the book that you're looking for."

"An unthinkable travesty," Wesley snorted, squinting at an offered drink and putting his glasses back on. "It's only nine in the morning… thank you."

"We've been awake for four hours," Giles said dismissively. "And we can be three sheets to the wind by lunch."

"I'd rather not," Wesley said a bit timidly. "But perhaps one night…."

"Yes. Well, you're right. I should only have one drink, so I can be sober enough to drive Dawn home from school. I have responsibilities."

"Maybe you should ask someone else to drive her home from school."

"Some night, we need to get together and have some real drinks," Giles suggested, ignoring Wesley.

* * *

"Hold still while I administer the shot." 

Galen sat quietly, grateful when the doctor rested her free hand on his shoulder, the only warning before the needle pierced his skin. She injected the medicine and then it was all over, but the spot was sore.

"You're looking very well, today, Galen," Dr. Sutton praised. "Is your medication still making you sick?"

"No."

"Good," Dr. Sutton watched Galen's eyes twitch. "Any complaints or concerns about your medication?"

"It's alright," Galen replied. "Gives me a headache, though."

"Have the head nurse get you some Tylenol," Dr. Sutton suggested. "And stay away from bright lights. How long have your eyes had that tic?"

"Since I came here," Galen said slowly, trying to remember. "It only happened once in a while, but now it's more frequent."

Dr. Sutton found her hand-held flashlight and sat down in front of Galen. "I'm going to shine this light into your eyes, to check for any reactions," she explained before gently holding his chin and shining the light in his eyes, one at a time.

She studied his eyes closely, still able to detect a hint of redness from the surgery. Another involuntary tic, and she shut off the flashlight.

"This could possibly be a result of the surgery, or the medication, or the head injury," she said, holding back a sigh. "I want you to let me know if it gets any worse."

"Alright."

"Do you still see light, Galen?"

"Yes," he answered hesitantly. "I can still see light. I can't make out any shapes, but I can tell the difference between darkness and light."

"Can you identify where a light source is coming from? For example, would you be able to follow a set of lights? Or can you only see that there is light?"

"I could follow lights," Galen considered. "If it was bright enough."

"Could you tell the difference between sunlight and lamp light?"

"I don't know; it's all fluorescent in here. It hurts my eyes; everything is so bright."

"But you can't see."

"It's not blackness, it's just… my eyes aren't sending signals to my brain. It's like a haze."

"Keep wearing your glasses," Dr. Sutton advised. "They can keep you from having to deal with any harsh lighting. Have you considered getting a larger pair?"

"And look like Stevie Wonder? That's not my thing," Galen said. "I'm more Ray Charles."

Dr. Sutton smiled at the remark. "Well, if the facial tics progress any further, you'll be grateful for your glasses. Hopefully a change of medication will correct the problem."

* * *

"Apparently I have to pass a drug test." 

"Well… that shouldn't be too hard," Cordelia said. "Unless you're secretly a cokehead."

"Me? I'm not the one who gets the munchies every ten minutes," Buffy said, looking at Fred purposefully. "If anyone's a druggie, it'd be her."

"I can see that," Cordelia studied Fred for a moment, before the thin girl ran off to go read science books or something. "I'm pretty sure that in college she must've partied. Not sure how she got off so sweet and innocent."

"Any idea when Xander gets off work?"

"How should I know? I've barely spoken to the guy in the past whatever years. I don't even know where he works."

"There's a lot of building work in the city," Buffy explained vaguely. "He's at a site to expand a mall."

"Then go ask him," Cordelia suggested. "And stop bugging me."

"Bitchy much?"

* * *

"How are you and that Fred fellow?" 

Wesley stared at Giles for a moment. "Winifred."

"Yes, her."

"We're quite alright. Why do you ask?"

"It's clear that you've taken a liking to her," Giles said. "Haven't you asked her to… accompany you on some sort of date?"

"Me? No. I think she… I'm fairly certain that she and Gunn are dating."

"Fred and Gunn? The young man…. I don't see that."

"You're a bit of dolt, then," Wesley said. "It's quite obvious."

"_You're _the prat," Giles corrected. "You're both meant for each other."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes. She's a beautiful nerd and you're a hopeless geek."

"You're using Buffy's words," Wesley scowled a bit.

"It rubs off on me."

"Well it shows," Wesley retorted, reaching for the scotch. "And you're quite a heavy drinker."

* * *

"Calm down, it's just a bit of blood," Kennedy said, trying to keep the nineteen year old self-proclaimed punk from passing out. "Hold onto that tissue and just sit it out. Let me know if you feel like you're going to barf." 

Kennedy shrugged and walked away from the kid, leaving him alone for a while.

"Very sensitive," Harvey remarked.

"He's got six other piercings. One would assume that by now he'd be over a couple drops of blood."

"I've got adult men who still cry when I do their ears," Harvey informed her over the buzz of Kylie putting a rose tattoo on a young woman's ankle. "And I've had plenty of girls puke. You just give them a bottle of water and help them sit through it. It's called good service. They come back for more."

Kennedy grit her teeth into a smile. "I'd better go take care of my client, then," she decided, walking back to where her customer sat in a chair. She pulled back the curtain and then set it back in place, greeting him with a reassuring smile.

"Hey there, kiddo. How you doing? No more bleeding, huh? Alright, let's finish up this Prince Albert."

* * *

"You'll be able to go back to the group home soon," Dr. Grier told Galen, referring to the place that was for various messed-up people. 

Much like where he already was, the group home was a place for recovering alcoholics, drug addicts, and suicide attempts, like Sarah. It had a couple of staff workers trained to deal with some emergency situations, but it had a household atmosphere. People who were sent there each had their own rooms where they were allowed to keep clothes and personal objects. Of course, no strings, belts, shoelaces, elastic bands, drugs, alcohol, knives, ect, ect, ect were allowed there.

Residents were encouraged to engage in daily activities like helping to prepare meals and make their own beds. It was basic stuff, and it was there that Galen was going to learn the basics of independent living.

"Is that a good thing?" Galen asked a bit miserably. The group home smelled like the psych ward did; like disinfectant, unwashed bodies and vomit.

"We've screened out any bad influences," Dr. Grier promised him. "The supervisors and the other residents will be aware of your needs. It will be helpful for everyone to experience having to adjust to the presence of a visually impaired individual. You'll have to figure that out on your own, with the help of the residents and the supervisors on duty. They'll walk you through the new basic needs: organizing the kitchen, keeping the house free of clutter… those types of things."

"What else am I supposed to do? I still can't read Braille. I can barely get around on my own."

"Everything will get better with time, Galen. You need to be more open. You need to accept the fact that your eyes are gone, and learn how to overcome that obstacle. You can still lead a full, promising life. If you still don't make much progress in mobility, we can secure a guide dog for you. Now, we've arranged for a tutor to teach you the basics of Braille. If six year olds can read in Braille, you can certainly learn."

"It's easy to learn when you're six," Galen grumbled. "Blind six year olds don't have to relearn how to read and write. Just like young kids can pick up different languages without difficulty. I've already learned everything in printed English and now I have to learn it again."

"I understand your frustration," Dr. Grier assured Galen. "But you will be able to handle it easily, once you accept your disability. Have you practiced using your Brailler?"

"It… takes a long time," Galen sighed.

"It will, but soon you'll learn how to abbreviate words. Just keep working at it. I have absolute faith in you."

* * *

"I can't believe this," Angel groaned after he set down the phone. 

"What was that?" Cordelia questioned.

"Wesley just called me."

"Where _is_ English, anyway?" Gunn asked.

"At Rupert Giles' apartment," Angel sighed. "They both decided to get drunk. Now they figure that Giles _probably_ can't pick Dawn up from school."

"Ugh," Cordelia frowned. "Giles and Wes have been getting too chummy."

"They're both kind of lonely," Angel defended a bit. "Who's going to go over and pick up Dawn from school?"

"Doesn't Buffy own a car?"

"No, that's Kennedy," Angel said. "I don't think Buffy's legally allowed to drive. She either walks or catches a ride."

"Can't Dawn walk home?"

"Guys, you know that Buffy doesn't want Dawn walking to school. The city can be dangerous."

"Man, my mama used to make us walk five miles to school," Gunn muttered.

"Only because you were kicked out _how_ many times?" Cordelia questioned.

"Guys, a little maturity?" Angel asked.

"I'll pick her up from school," Cordelia said.

"Thanks. I was pretty sure I love you for a reason."

"I love you, too, you big lug."

* * *

"Looks like you've got a lot of work to do," Xander said. 

"I sure do. I'm just not that good at reading all of this and understanding it."

Buffy and Xander were sitting on Buffy's living room floor, with her books and pamphlets and some printed out internet sites scattered all around them.

Xander picked up a book, giving it a long, serious look before he set it back down.

"Neither am I."

Buffy was quiet for a while. "Neither of us can read a text book?"

"Why do you think I never went to college?" Xander snorted. "I like working with my hands, Buffy. I'm a carpenter, not a computer whiz. You should ask Willow."

"I did talk to Willow," Buffy sighed. "She said to ask you. She said we could study out loud, back and forth. She said you were manly. She said I could practice arresting you. She made it sound like fun."

"This all looks like legal Latin to me," Xander said. "Although, I do like the uniforms."

"Thank you."

"I think I can help you with the drill procedures. What to do in the event of a bomb threat, a terrorist attack - how about a hoard of zombies, or blood-sucking fiends? Well, you're already a pro on that. This company should hire you to write your own chapter."

"I'm Buffy the Hall Monitor, now, Xander."

"Right. Okay, well as far was understanding your legal authority, you're going to have to ask Giles."

Buffy made scared eyes, drawing her feet in underneath her. "I called him before I came over. It was… horrible. He wouldn't stop giggling. I think I heard Wesley in the background."

"Giggling…?" Xander trailed off, leaving the question neither one of them wanted to ask. "Oookay! Let's see if we can figure out the limits of your authority on our own."

"I'll go grab Willow's legal dictionary."

"Good idea, we're going to need it. Oh, hey! There's emergency evacuation procedures in the event of a fire!"

"Oooh… fire pretty."

* * *

**Give me some love if you're liking this. Thank you. Read on.**


	4. 5 x 5

**A week later...**

* * *

"I'd like everyone to welcome Addison to the group home," Brenda said. Addison was greeted by a murmur of "hello" and one enthusiastic hug from a very overly hyper woman.

"This is such a wonderful place to recover," she said against his chest.

"Thank you…" he said slowly, waiting for the woman to move off of him.

"Violation of personal space is not allowed, Jenny," Brenda reminded sternly. "You need to respect other people's comfort zones."

Jenny nodded solemnly, looking like a scolded child.

"Now as you can see, we're pretty much like a big family here. If any of you have conflicts - and we hope you won't - we hope you can resolve them in a calm fashion. If you can't, Mary or I will have to deal with you. If anyone seriously misbehaves, you'll be out of the group home.

"If everyone can compromise, we shouldn't have any problems. Now the only person that we bend the rules for a bit is Galen. Since he has a visual disability, sometimes he may choose one of you to help him around. Please do offer any help, especially if asked. He doesn't need any excessive assistance, he's simply here to learn living skills like the rest of you. Aside from that, there will be no unnecessary violation of anyone's personal bubble. We need to respect one another."

"I can manage that," Addison said.

"There are other rules as well. The house is to be kept tidy. This is a necessity of being in the group home, but any obstructions need to be kept cleared from the floor. The length of time that you're here depends on how well you're able to take care of yourself and this house. If you can keep your room clean, show decorum and respect to the other residents, and occasionally help with activities like cleaning, cooking, laundry, or gardening, you'll be ready to be released, in time."

Brenda took a deep breath, smiling at everyone. "Should we go around the room with introductions, or can I trust you all to socialize nicely?"

"We'll be fine," Jenny smiled sweetly.

"Alright. I'll be in the office if anyone needs me."

Even after Brenda left, the tension still hung in the air.

"So…" Eamon breathed out. "Who else has been to a group home before?"

"Ooh, I have," Jenny responded. "I've been to six. They're all so nice. Except for one. And the other."

"This is my first," Addison said nervously.

"I've been to a couple," a different girl replied, more restrained. "Every time my medicine messes up, I get all schizo. I don't even remember why I'm here." Galen didn't know her name, because some of the residents rarely socialized at all. Quite a few passed through the home and were gone in a couple days. Jenny wasn't one of those types.

"Why are you here?" Addison asked Eamon. "Unless you don't want to talk about it."

"I'm an alcoholic," Eamon replied. "Fell off the wagon again. Tried to punch a cop. I'm just nuts enough to be put here. It's better than jail."

"This is a new level of hell."

"Did they put you on medication?" Galen asked Addison.

"Medication is bullshit," the schizo girl hissed, so her voice wouldn't carry to the supervisor's office. "This place is just like a low security prison. The only difference is, you have to cook your own crappy food. You can't take a piss without one of the orderlies asking you if you did something while you were away for two freaking minutes."

"You're on high alert," Galen reminded her.

"At least I'm not their lap pet," she retorted.

"I'm nobody's 'pet.'"

"You're a conformist bastard, you filthy traitor. Always leeching onto the supervisors."

"Calm down, guys," Eamon warned. "Arguments just make Brenda spout off her peaceful resolution speeches."

"Give each other five compliments," Jenny parroted, a stern tone in her voice. "Or I'll tell Brenda."

"Damnit," Galen hissed. "She starts. She brought up the topics that aren't supposed to be discussed."

"You start, Rachel," Jenny repeated.

"Ugh. Uh… you're smart. I guess."

"You're… mysterious."

"Your shades are wicked."

"Your voice is nice."

"Three more. Err… you're pretty handsome."

"I'd say 'likewise' but I wouldn't know."

"I'm damn hot."

"Can that count for mine?"

"No," Jenny said. "Rachel has two left, you have to say three."

"I've run out of ideas. You're… clean."

"You've got spine," Rachel said.

"I admire your snappy remarks."

"I like your work ethic."

"I enjoy your brutal honesty. We done?"

"Five by five," Jenny replied. "We're squared."

"Tight," Rachel remarked, leaning back in her seat.

"Is that what we do here?" Addison shuddered a bit.

"It's worse when the nurses force us to do those kinds of friendly activities," Eamon informed him. "But sometimes the neurotic types make everything seem hysterically funny."

"I'd like to be neurotic," Rachel mused.

"You already are," Galen assured her.

"In that case, you're giving me a run for my money, Mr. I-Can't-Live-Without-My-Pudding."

"Pudding is severely under appreciated," Galen frowned. "And I have to keep the kitchen organized. You know that. It's part of my 'coping plan.' It's supposed to be therapeutic… or something."

"Sucks to be you. You couldn't even run away if you had the chance."

"Why would I? I don't have anywhere to go, and I'm the only one who gets permission to go to the library."

"Geek," Rachel snorted.

"At least its away from here," Galen pointed out. "And you can't walk out the front door."

"Wouldn't you rather be released?" Addison questioned.

Galen fell deathly still. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Addison hesitated, looking around at the other residents. "Every one else wants to leave as soon as possible. Surely you've got a family, a girlfriend, or something to get back to?"

"Dr. Grier says that I'm going to get a seeing-eye dog," Galen said quietly, picking up his cane. "And a tutor to help me to learn Braille. But I have to keep my room clean."

Eamon silently moved out of Galen's way, so that the other man wouldn't knock into him on his way to his room.

Addison waited until the door was shut. "What's up with him?"

"Galen's been here before," Jenny said. "He's sweet."

"He only recently lost his vision," Rachel explained. "He's been down at Good Sam's a million times. Someone's sponsoring him, I guess. He was in an accident or something, and got a bad brain injury. He's a really smart guy, but he's got memory issues."

"Retrograde amnesia," Eamon chipped in. "I heard they investigated but couldn't find any family. No one wants to take in a 30-something year old guy who probably never had a life to begin with."

"They tried surgery a couple times," Rachel recalled. "I know because I was here before he left the group. He was pissed off, said something about having to go under the knife _again_. They don't know what's wrong with his eyes. After the head injury they just won't work."

"The brain is very complex," Addison said thoughtfully. "Likely they'll never figure it out."

"But he's very sweet," Jenny added again. "Except when he gets angry. He's got a lot of emotional issues, but he doesn't talk."

"Newsflash: We all have emotional problems," Rachel informed her tersely. "That's why we're here."

* * *

"As a security _officer_, it is my job to enforce safety," Buffy said, with an air of pride and confidence. "It is my job to help patients, offer guidance, assist other, and identify potentially dangerous situation. My duties include being able to respond to a crisis, report any suspicious activity or hazardous things, and to keep a vigilant watch over the entrances and exits of my post." 

"Very nice," Giles praised.

"Did you rehearse that?" Willow asked.

"Just a little," Buffy smiled with a little shrug.

"She's come a long way," Xander pointed out approvingly. "We've spent many long nights going over notes."

"And you've trained her well," Cordelia stated.

"Chief Braham told me that my enthusiasm made me a shoe-in," Buffy said happily. "Apparently I have this glowing personality that they like their employees to have at Good Sam. Who knew?"

"I'm digging that uniform, too," Gunn offered. "You wear it good, girl."

"Thank you," Buffy looked over her uniform proudly. She now had a belt capable of holding various things like mace, a baton, a gun, and other items. "I'm going to start unarmed - the guys don't really expect me to start crime-solving or anything right away. I just have to hold down the fort, and help patients and visitors. Later I'm definitely going to train so I can get a baton license."

"If they realized you were the slayer, you'd only have to learn the procedures and legal technicalities," Willow said. "They wouldn't even think of treating you like some helpless little girl."

"Being underestimated can come in handy," Buffy shrugged. "And Good Sam doesn't discriminate with employees. It's all about experience."

"That's what I meant," Willow amended quickly. "You've got seven years of super-duper experience under your belt, and you can't even prove any of it."

"I'm just really glad they're giving me a shot," Buffy said. "It'll be awesome if I get the employee benefits, too. Did you know they offer dry cleaning services?"

Fred came down the stairs, stopping at the sight of the group get-together.

"Hey guys. Buffy, you got your uniform?"

"I've had this, but I've almost got my badge."

"You're doing so well!" Fred praised with a delighted smile. "It's so nice to see you accomplishing your goals."

"That's me. Goal getter."

"Willow, I meant to ask you," Fred added. "Remember when you were all 'I'm going to make you into soup' and you tried to kill me with that poisoned apple?"

"It was the witch," Willow said, wide-eyed. "The evil, nasty witch possessing my body."

"I know that, silly. I was wondering where did you guys get your books from? I don't recall us having The Brothers Grimm in Wesley's collection."

"From the local library," Willow replied. "You can get a card for free, or I could check out some books for you, as long as you get them back on time. I'd have to beat you up."

"Thanks a bunch. I just wanted to know where is it because I wanted to look into their science section."

"It's actually only a block and a half away. I could head over there with you," Willow offered.

"No thanks," Fred smiled bashfully. "I have this strange obsession with books. They make me sort of giggly, just from seeing so many in one place. I don't want you to be shushed because of me. Besides, it's weird, trying to explain my quirks."

"I think Wesley can relate," Giles chipped in.

"You bookish types are so strange," Cordelia shook her head.

"I could probably stop by my favorite taco stand, too," Fred said, delighted again.

"That sounds like a blast," Buffy said. "But I've got to get home. Dawn will be back from school, so we have to go through the twenty-questions thing."

"Twenty questions?" Gunn asked.

"How was your day? Did you do well in class? Got any homework? What do you want for supper?" Buffy rambled off quickly. "I feel like I'm a single mother sometimes."

Willow gave Buffy a look. "Did Dawn ever talk to you about that bully?"

"No," Buffy frowned. "But now that you mention it, I'll add that to my list o' questions."

"I assume this is my cue to leave as well," Giles said, standing up.

"You've got the wheels," Buffy replied gleefully.

"Yes, and Los Angeles traffic is _such_ a wonderful thing."

"We don't live _that_ far away."

"Thank heavens."

"No one wants to ride home with me?" Xander asked, following them towards the door.

"Be safe," Cordelia called after them.

"I've got to be going, too," Fred decided.

"Lordy, girl, you're serious about this?" Gunn asked.

"The library is open late," Fred smiled. "And I do need to get out more."

"I'll go with you, then," Gunn said.

"That's okay," Fred shook her head. "I don't want to bore anyone. I love libraries… they're dusty old mazes, and around every corner you can find new and exciting information. Besides, you and Cordelia need to hold down the fort."

"Take one of the cell phones," Cordelia handed Fred a blue and silver phone. "The Hyperion's number is programmed in, as well as my phone, Wesley's, and Angel's. Assuming the big dolt has his on, or hasn't broken it. Again."

"Ring us up and let us know when you're ready to come home," Gunn said. "Because I'm not letting the lady walk home alone in the dark. I'll even carry your books for you."

"Now y'all are being too sweet," Fred smiled.

"Call us when you're ready to come back," Gunn repeated firmly. "And take a stake with you."

* * *

"I thought you researched this," Angel said, a bit irritated as he and Wesley finally reached parts of the sewer tunnels that showed signs of the demon infestation. 

"I told you, I checked Giles' collection and he had nothing on the matter, either. Surely there's no book on this planet that can help us get rid of a bunch of demonic cockroaches from another dimension."

"Oh. Well, I wasn't paying attention."

"At least you're honest about it," Wesley sighed, frowning as his shoes crunched on something. He shined his flashlight down towards the floor and saw a thin, brown, shell-like thing that had crumpled like a dry leaf.

"Larvae are hatching," Angel stated with an audible shudder. They could hear the echoes of skittering, and high pitch sounds like the cries of bats. Something crawled past them in the darkness, followed by another scurrying thing, and another on the curved walls.

Wesley swallowed thickly, backing up a little bit. "Well, we've located the nest. Shall we go investigate further on, or…?"

"Let's take note and come back later to torch it," Angel said.

"Good plan," Wesley agreed quickly. "Let's get out of here, now."

"Calm down a little, Wes. We need to backtrack to the Hyperion. Daylight, remember?"

"Yes, of course. The sooner the better. This place is… most unsettling."

"Yeah, it creeps me out, too."

* * *

"That wasn't embarrassing at all." 

"No one was even around, Dawnie," Buffy sighed.

"Practically my entire family showed up to take poor little Dawnie home," Dawn stressed.

"You're lucky to have a family as cool as ours," Willow pouted.

"It's like I have three moms," Dawn said. "And depending on what day of the week it is, at least two dads."

"You're almost ready to go off to college," Buffy reminded her. "And then you'll miss your three moms and two dads."

"Maybe just a little."

"So what did you learn in school today?"

* * *

"Look at all of these books," Fred murmured happily, staring up at the large library. 

Stacks and rows and shelves and carts full of books.

"How can I help you, dear?" an elderly woman asked her.

Fred smiled. "Just point me towards your science section, please."

"You can find books relating to astronomy, physics, math, medicine, and general science upstairs in the far left section."

"Thank you," Fred nodded, and made her way to the stairs. She was as happy as a little girl on Christmas morning, and just couldn't wait to unwrap all of her pretty presents.

The librarian continued to check in returned books, looking up ten minutes later as the door rang again, signaling another patron.

"Hello, Galen, welcome back," the librarian greeted.

"Hello," he replied, setting his white cane on the carpet to feel for any book carts that might have been relocated since his last visit. "Thank you," he said to Brenda when they stopped at the front desk.

"Will you be alright?" Brenda asked.

"I'm trusted," Galen lowered his head. "Ms. Godin is a rugged old lass who'll beat me silly if I try to leave the library on my own."

"Darn right I will," the librarian smiled sweetly. "I'll take good care of him."

Brenda nodded and left the library, calling brief goodbyes to make sure Galen knew she was leaving.

"Will it be the Braille or the audio tapes tonight?" Ms. Godin asked.

"Actually, I was wondering if you had books on these topics," Galen said, taking a piece of note paper out of his pocket and unfolding it on the desk. He'd recruited Eamon to help him with an encyclopedia, since he knew he didn't have a fat mouth.

The librarian picked it up and looked over the list. "We definitely have books on blindness. What's a blepharospasm?"

"You'd find that in a medical book, I believe," Galen said. "It's a form of focal dystonia. A muscle spasm in the eyes."

"I don't think we have that in Braille," Ms. Godin frowned.

"I could get someone to read it to me," Galen said. "I'm not good at reading Braille anyway."

"You'll get better with practice," she assured him. "I'll point you to the right sections."

Galen waited for her, and took her arm when she offered it to him.

"We're heading for the stairs. Watch your step."

* * *

"What'd you guys find?" Cordelia asked when Angel and Wesley returned, smelling of the sewers. 

"Evidence of a large-scale infestation," Wesley said breathlessly.

"It was… icky," Angel added. "We're thinking of borrowing that flamethrower Fred made."

"You'll have to ask the Queen of Science when she gets back," Cordelia said. "And for the love of Mike, don't think of touching it off in here."

"Who's this Mike guy?" Angel questioned, jealousy in his voice.

"Where did she go?" Wesley asked.

"Fred went to the library," Gunn said.

"The sun is setting," Wesley frowned.

Gunn shrugged. "She wouldn't let me walk her over. But I made her take a stake."

"And I made her take a cell phone," Cordelia added.

"And she's going to call us when she's ready to come home."

"Fred isn't a good fighter like the rest of us," Angel admitted. "We have to look out for her."

"You're right, she isn't like us," Cordelia said. "She's almost freakishly smarter than all of us. That gives her an equal advantage."

"She took pretty good care of _you_ in Pylea," Wesley pointed out.

"Don't turn this against me," Angel objected. "We all know that Fred, whether or not she is defenseless, she looks as helpless as a kitten. I just want to keep her safe. You feel the same way."


	5. Tutor

**A/N: Thanks for all of the feedback! Keep it coming!**

* * *

Piles of books were spread out on the table. Fred found a secluded section of the library, where everything was very quiet. There was only a narrow path into the area, which was bordered almost completely by books on all types of sciences. She had eagerly chosen the thickest; most credited books, and was now trying to read as much as possible before she would have to check out.

She'd been reading for the last half hour when she saw him. He was quite possibly the only other person in the library, aside from Ms. Godin, who was downstairs somewhere.

It was easy to notice him, because his footsteps broke the dead silence. Fred peered out of her hiding place for a while, then saw him pass by again and set down her book carefully, wandering out with a bit of curiosity and sympathy.

"Are you looking for something?" Fred asked hesitantly.

"Are you a librarian?" he asked in return.

"Well, no, but I am a bit familiar with the Dewey Decimal system," Fred laughed, trying to break the ice, while taking in his white cane, as if the glasses weren't already a giveaway. "You're blind. I'm sorry. Can I help you find whatever you're looking for?"

He fidgeted slightly, playing with the shoulder strap of the bag he carried. For a very handsome looking man. He seemed to lack self-confidence. "I was looking for the books on medicine."

Fred smiled. "Well, you're right where you wanna be. May I escort you to the section on modern medicine, and continue to help you narrow down your search?"

"Knock yourself out," the man replied, but at the same time he tucked his cane under his arm, and waited for Fred to take his arm.

Blossoming in the face of his shyness, Fred eagerly wrapped their arms together.

"Anything particular in medicine?" she asked brightly, leading him through the narrow walkways carefully. "Maybe the cardiovascular system or the fascinating respiratory system? There're also the interesting fields of medicine, which study the benefits of using leeches and maggots."

"I don't think a leech or a maggot can help me."

"Well they've helped other people," Fred said. "Leeches drain excess blood and loosen blood slots, and maggots have been used as a safe way of getting rid of dead, rotting flesh without amputating limbs."

"That's worrying," he frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry, I've been rude," Fred giggled slightly, out of nervousness. "I'm always like this – my mind running away. I'm Winifred Burkle. But my friends call me Fred. And I'm usually not so outspoken around strangers."

"I'm Galen Bristol, and I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. But you seem pretty comfortable, for someone who isn't outspoken."

Giggling bashfully, Fred let go of his arm and waved around to indicate the books. "It's just that I love science. Especially physics. I was the little genius for dimensional space theories for a while. Oh, I'm sorry! That was totally rude of me to just leave you like that," she said, taking his hand again. "It's my fault. I have to admit, I'm not experienced in this area."

"Neither am I," Galen kept his head down.

"I mean, socially I'm a complete flop," Fred admitted, heaving a happy sigh. "I think my life as a physicist is official over."

"At least you know you had one."

Fred tilted her head, trying to see past her own reflection in his dark glasses. "What do you mean?"

* * *

"That's sad," Fred murmured, now seated across from Galen. 

"I'm sorry I unloaded on you like that," Galen frowned.

"No, it's okay," Fred assured him. "I mean, that's big. And the amnesia is permanent?"

Galen shrugged. "I know this sounds weird, but… at one point I started to remember things, and that was good but it was also bad. Then I forgot what I remembered."

"I don't know much about amnesia," Fred admitted. "The government probably knows more about a distant galaxy than they do about a human brain. All the information we have is pretty vague. But I bet someday we'll be able to figure this kind of stuff out."

"Until then I'm screwed," Galen muttered. "I can't even learn Braille."

"Braille… can't be easy."

Galen felt the familiar distress coming back. "Dr. Grier told me, if a six year old can learn to read Braille, I could learn Braille. But maybe I'm just too old to pick it up, or maybe my head injury-"

"That's stupid!" Fred blurted out, flushing when she remembered she was in a library. "I mean, really. Your _doctor_ told you this?"

"Yes…" Galen shifted uncomfortably.

"What kind of… dumb-dumb is this creep?" Fred was clearly outraged. "Does he _teach_ Braille to adults?"

"No," Galen shrugged uncomfortably. "Even my temporary tutor wasn't that good at Braille."

"Does he teach _anyone **anything**_?" Fred asked. "I bet the answer is no. You can't just pick up Braille in a few days. You have to work at it. I know very vague concepts and I still know that much. Didn't they practice any tactile skills with you?"

"Any what?"

Fred shook her head in dismay and picked up his hands. "Stop trying to read Braille. Don't stress over it right now. Your hands aren't used to it yet. As a virtually sightless person, your hands become your eyes. Just like you train a young child to distinguish green from blue, and blue from purple, you need to teach your fingers to distinguish textures."

"I know textures."

"You _know_ textures. You need to _feel_ textures. You feel to see. Anyone can distinguish black from white, as easily as you can distinguish rough from soft. There are shades to colors; blue, teal, aquamarine. You know all of those," she watched him nod, clearly upset. "It's the some thing, but with your fingers."

"Will you help me?"

Fred blinked a little, somewhat taken back by the question. "I will," she decided.

"I don't want to be a bother, though, if you can't-"

"No," Fred squeezed his hands reassuringly. "I've got all the time in the world. Let me do some research on all of this, and I'll figure out a… a lesson plan. Something very, very simple. Don't worry about a single thing. This is new to you. No average person can learn an entirely new language just like that. We start small, and work our way up."

"Thank you."

"Where would you like to meet?" Fred asked.

"Here," Galen said. "We could meet here as many times a week as you can manage."

"Every day?" Fred asked.

"You really don't have anything to do?" Galen asked.

"Nope. And even if I did, I'd always have a little room in the evenings. You want to meet in the morning and grab coffee or something?"

"I'm not allowed," Galen replied uneasily. "You see, I… I live in a group home under the care of some doctors and nurses… they're helping me with this, too, but you're the first one that makes sense to me. They're teaching me how to organize my living environment and cook"

"Those are good skills, too."

"I've been into eye surgery, a couple of times, but that hasn't worked. There isn't anything they can do."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. They're going to get me a seeing-eye dog," Galen added hopefully. "Then I'll be able to walk here on my own, eventually. Which means I can sneak away to have coffee."

"They sound very strict."

"They don't want me to get lost," Galen replied, still unhappy.

"Well, it's reasonable," Fred decided. "I wouldn't want you to get lost, either."

A blush seemed to cross his face. Fred was delighted by the shy man.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," Fred affirmed without hesitation. "I never have anything to do, and I enjoy research and learning about new things. I think that it will be very educational for both of us."

"I think so, too," Galen said strangely. "You know, I've met a lot of interesting people lately."

"So have I," Fred beamed. "You never know who's out there until you just reach out and say hello."

"I'm glad that we had this conversation."

"So am I. I think that the lesson for today is, don't stress with reading Braille _at all_. Just practice feeling things: coffee mugs, pens, cardboard, whatever. Your hands are your eyes."

"Well, I… I'd better check these books out," Galen said, indicating the two Braille books he'd picked up earlier. "I know, 'no reading' and I won't, but if I don't check them out, Brenda will wonder what I spent all of my time doing, and Dr. Grier will chew me out for not practicing."

"Couldn't you tell them you found a teacher?"

"No offense, but they'll probably get all bitchy because you're not licensed," Galen said fearfully. "They might make me stop coming to the library. They think I spend most of my time listening to audio tapes at one of the back tables."

"That's boring," Fred sighed, getting up and making sure Galen didn't stumble. "I should check my books out as well. I'm brushing up on quantum physics."

"Ah," Galen grimaced. "My brain just shorted out at the word."

"That's the average reaction," Fred snickered. "But it's really quite simple. Well, I have to call my personal bodyguard service and let them know that I'm going to be heading home in twenty minutes, with or without them."

"Personal bodyguard…?"

"I live in a sort of group home, too," Fred explained, digging around for the cell phone. "Only, it's a hotel and I'm surrounded by three overprotective guys at all time. Gunn made me promise I'd call when I decided to go home."

"Well, it is about after dark by now," Galen considered. "They're just watching out for you."

"Yeah, I've got everyone watching out for me," Fred mused.

"You said you have a cell phone?" Galen asked.

"No, I didn't actually."

"Well, it's not hard to figure out. I said you needed to make a call and then rummaged through your pockets for you cell phone. Besides, half the world has one. At least."

"Very true, Holmes."

"You want to trade numbers? I mean, my cell phone isn't really mine, and it's mostly locked up in the office, but if you need to cancel or warn me you'll be late, you could let me know, and I could tell you if anything springs up, like an appointment with my specialist, or the supervisor refusing to let me leave."

"I'll give you my number," Fred said, taking a piece of paper and writing down her number backwards. She told him the number aloud and then handed him the paper. "I wrote the numbers large, so when you flip it over, the digits are raised. Feel."

Galen nodded, a little unsure of how to react to her tactful ideas.

"Are you gonna make it home alright?"

"I have to call Brenda. I live with four other mentally unstable adults and two hired helpers. But don't worry; the fact that I'm here proves that I'm not harmful. I'm only there because they can easily monitor my medicine, and I need that because I forget what to take. Not to mention I'm developing independence and people skills, or something."

"Independence is good," Fred nodded. "When can we meet again?"

"Uh… tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"I can do that," Fred smiled. "It's a date. I'll bring some materials for us to study."

"You're really into this?"

"Definitely. I was helped out a while ago, and I want to return the favor. Everyone deserves an education, and you shouldn't have to be put through this guilt-trip for not knowing something that no one should expect you to know."

"I guess so."

"We're gonna be good friends," Fred declared. "Gimme a hug?" She waited or him to show willingness and then squeezed him for a brief, whole-hearted, Winifred Burkle love ambush.

Galen fidgeted while the nice girl held him, unsure where it was okay to put his hands. Physical contact wasn't okay at all, so he kept his hands away from her.

Breaking the rules. He was bad.

* * *

"Cordelia." 

"Leave a message."

Fred waited patiently at the front desk, while a client walked around the lobby. He was half demon, and it showed. Whenever she looked over at him, he was eyeing her lewdly, and she was getting fed up.

"Cordy."

"Hold on a sec," Cordelia muttered, briefly cupping the mouthpiece of the phone. "Uh-huh. Yeah. No… a bug bomb will not get rid of a poltergeist."

Fred anxiously tapped her foot while she waited. She was painfully aware that no matter what she wore, she looked like she was a young girl. At least she didn't look like a whore; her clothes were always plain, her hair a bit messy, her glasses made her look nerdy and her socks sagged loosely over of her sneakers.

Only her friends had grown to love and appreciate the typical Fred look.

Once in a while, when her head wasn't in the clouds – or a book or a math equation, as the case may be – she actually remembered to brush her hair, or to put on some nice clothes.

Still… the demon client wouldn't stop looking at her like she was a tasty treat.

"Yes," Cordelia was writing down an address now. "Uh-huh. I'll let Mr. Angel know as soon as he gets up. No, it's okay. Poltergeists are usually just mischievous. Just stay calm and for the love of Buddha, don't provoke it. If it starts getting really active again, give us another call. Yes, of course. You're welcome, ma'am." She set down the phone and looked up at Fred. "What?"

"I need to use the internet."

"Okay. Why?"

"Research purposes," Fred answered. "I'll only be half an hour at most, even less if I can hop onto Google and print off any relative websites."

"What are you researching?" Cordelia questioned, getting up from her seat behind the desk so Fred could slip behind the computer.

"I met a man at the library the other night," Fred settled into the computer chair.

"_Oooh_! Fred has a lover?"

Fred blushed, blinking hard as she brought up the internet browser. "That's not what I said. We have… a date, you'd call it, set up for tonight."

"I thought you were the shy, quiet type," Cordelia said. "All these years and I _finally_ got Angel – you go out and hook up with a guy at the _library_?"

"Maybe guys 'dig' smart girls?" Fred guessed wickedly, snorting when she laughed. "I'm sorry, Cordy, I'm just joshing around. I'm going to be tutoring him."

"Foreign language?"

"Sort of," Fred replied, staring at the search engine and typing in her keywords. "He's blind, and he wants to be able to read. I told him it's ridiculous for any doctor to assume that because he's an adult, he's supposed to just be able to pick up Braille. I told him to forget about that; I'm going to do a little research and teach him myself."

"Wow. You're going to teach Braille to this guy – when you don't even know Braille yourself? Can you cure world hunger after this?"

Fred flushed, looking up websites for general interactions and development skills. "I know that it's a system of raised dots, and that each character is based on a tiny grid two dots across and four dots down. Certain locations and combinations of raised dots represent certain letters, numbers, or symbols."

"Yeah, we've all seen the little signs by the public restrooms," Cordelia snorted. "Or in your guy's case, felt them." She stared over Fred's shoulder shamelessly. "_This_ isn't Braille."

"I'm not teaching him Braille," Fred reminded her, matter-of-factly. "I was right, following my initial hypothesis. It's okay to start teaching small children how to read Braille, because they don't know anything else. Galen needs to go through the same easy process, but there's such a lack of understanding for blind adults or teenagers that lose their sight later in life."

"You guys want me to frickin' wait all day long?" the demon half-breed demanded.

"Angel's sleeping, and I already told you that Wesley and Gunn are _working_," Cordelia said. "Unless you really want me to go wake up my boss. I'm sure he'll be really happy to end all your problems."

The demon growled in annoyance, heading for the door. "I'm leaving."

"Good riddance," Cordelia muttered. "Freddie, are Wes and Gunn going to approve of this man you're seeing?"

Fred snorted softly. "Of course not. But I… I jumped right on board, didn't I?"

"It sure seems that way."

Fred sat back, metaphorically distancing herself to better survey the situation.

"That's silly of me," Fred chided herself, shaking her head. "But he's so very shy…. Like I am. Like I was in Pylea. I just want to help him. It makes me feel like I'm important, if only to one person.."

"You are important," Cordelia assured her. "Our men are just… very protective."

"They have every right to be," Fred said with a sad smile. "There are a lot of bad people out there. Half of those aren't even human people. It's nice to know that Wesley and Charles care enough to keep me safe."

"Are you still going to see this guy?"

"I promised him," Fred reminded herself. "Maybe I'll just start as small as I told him I was going to. Following my hypothesis – which I now know is right – I need to start as small as preschool stuff. I should get some things for him to practice feeling, to train his fingers to differentiate textures. Uh… soft linens, sandpaper, washcloths, fleece, plastic… what can I bring?"

"What time do you meet him?" Cordelia asked, amused by Fred's panicky enthusiasm.

"Later tonight," Fred told her. "But that's only little over an hour away."

"Shouldn't you be getting dolled up, then?" Cordelia asked teasingly, caught by a look. "Oh, right. Well… I can steal one of Angel's silk shirts, as long as you bring it back in one piece."

"I'll keep it safe. Thank you."

"Nab a washcloth," Cordelia added. "Sand paper would be nice, but we haven't got any. Take some different coins, and I bet you can etch some things into paper."

"_Yes_," Fred nodded. "Thank you."

"Yup. Just do us all a favor – take the cell phone with you again, call us when you _get there_ and let us know you're alright. The boys will go crazy with worry when they find out you're meeting some guy. And be _smart_. No kisses until he takes you to a nice diner – no sex until he puts a ring on your finger – and no babies until you've picked out the colors of the crib."

"Good grief! I want to educate him, not produce offspring with the guy!" Fred cried. "I'm a big girl. I can meet boys without getting pregnant."

"Yeah. But you know that Angel will get all 'grr' and want you to bring this guy over – so all of us can properly threaten him. 'Touch this girl and you're dead.'"

"Y'all are too sweet," Fred teased. "I've got to go gather some things."

* * *

"Wils," Buffy called out. 

"Buffy? I'm in here."

Buffy followed the vague directions to the kitchen, where a sink full of dishes sat, and Willow had fresh dishwater dripping off of her elbows while she wiped her hands.

"Wait, don't tell me. Okay, you went to your CPR training course today, and now you've got this huge grin on your face…" Willow set aside the towel when her arms were dry. "Let me guess… the CPR training dummy was possessed and tried to feel you up?"

"And that would make me _grin_?" Buffy questioned with a brief shudder. "I did see the CPR dummy, though. I remembered all of the moves. I passed!"

"Yipee!" Willow indulged in a victory cry, letting Buffy hug her. "That's great, Buffy. But to be honest, I was never very worried abut you."

"How are things here?" Buffy asked. "The daily battles of Willow vs. the dust bunnies?"

"I'm doing just fine being the domestic type," Willow shrugged. "I get Dawn off to school every morning, I do dishes, I…"

"You're not happy," Buffy realized.

"I'm, I'm okay," Willow objected slightly. "But I miss the stuff I used to do. Giles is busy organizing the Potentials, Andrew ran off to Italy for Goddess' sake!"

Buffy giggled. "With just enough money to _get_ him there. Bet the only reason he hasn't called whining for money is because he doesn't know our numbers. Willow, if you're not happy you don't have to stay here all day long. You should go help Giles with those Potentials. There are a lot of girls, and you could locate them a lot easier than the covens."

"I don't know. That kind of work might keep me up and away from the house without much of an income."

"Kennedy's making money, I'm going to be making some money, and if Dawn insists on getting any more expensive clothes, she's going to be out looking for work, too. But aside from Giles, Angel seems to be willing to hire. You could work there, part time. I'm sure they could use your skills once in a while."

"Magic makes me nervous now," Willow admitted.

"Mull it over," Buffy suggested. "But you're still the most powerful witch in the western hemisphere. And hey, the so-called powerful chick in the eastern hemisphere? I think she's a hack."

* * *

"This is silk," Fred told her student, handing over the shirt and biting her lip to keep from going into a factual rant about silkworms and China. "It has a very fine texture, as you would obviously notice." 

Galen merely nodded, running his hands over the fascinatingly sleek material.

"This is cotton," Fred handed over a different, plain shirt and let Galen test the differences. "See? They're not very alike at all."

"No."

"Much like," Fred paused, digging into her bag and pulling out two spoons. "A metal spoon and a plastic spoon," she said, tapping them both on the table in turn. She watched a smile cross Galen's face from the mere sound of the metallic tapping and the dull plastic thud. "Here, feel. Big differences there."

Big, obvious differences. The metal spoon was cool under his fingers, the plastic one room temperature. They were both the same shape and size, but were clearly complete opposites.

"I also drew up some geometric shapes," Fred told him, finding the piece of paper she'd used. "There are the outlines of a circle, an oval, a square, and a triangle. Here," she set it down and weighted down the edges with some books, then picked up Galen's hand and guided his finger tips to the paper.

Galen slid his fingers along the paper until he felt small ridges, tracing them around several times. "Circle."

"Oval."

"Oval," Galen repeated, moving his finger along and brushing into another shape. "Triangle."

"Yes."


	6. Burning

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! **

**Everyone wants the Spuffy soon, but that won't be able to happen for a little bit. Besides, the build up is the best part. And, uh, there are issues at hand, besides whether or not they will be together.**

**Note: the next chapter is mostly centric on the people in the group home. I have it typed up, so if I get enough reviews today I'll post that early and move onto the bigger stuff.**

* * *

"Did anyone think to ask Fred how this thing works?" Angel asked, referring to the flamethrower. 

"Uh…"

"No," Gunn interrupted Wesley's articulate thought-process.

Angel sighed deeply. "Can we figure it out, at least?"

"I believe you simply turn on the fuel and then pull the trigger," Wesley said. "As this is a prototype, there isn't a simpler mechanism. It could still prove to be quite effective."

"You mean it's untested?" Angel asked as they began to walk through the sewers again.

"Man, why would anyone want to test something that spits fire and might not work?" Gun asked.

"Fred told me she tested it with water as a 'fuel,'" Wesley told Angel. "It propelled the water, as you would want the fuel to be propelled away from you. Thirty feet."

"Is that water?" Angel questioned, referring to the tank of liquid.

"It's gas," Wesley replied. "Shall we continue to the nest?"

* * *

Hundreds of slayers around the world were marked by red dots on a large map in Giles' living room. There was no explanation to what the map was, or a title. _Andrew would undoubtedly give this the most obvious title in the world,_ Giles thought with a shudder. ' 

Every time a new slayer cropped up, the coven would let him know and he'd add another red dot. Some had surely died since then, and a few might have gone undetected, but he had mostly all of them.

Unfortunately, Andrew had skipped off to Italy, and a good number of Potentials-turned-slayer went with him. They liked him for unknown, illogical reasons. Mostly they just hated the idea of being Chosen, or of being led by Buffy. Andrew was off in a magical land where vampires weren't all that bad, and that was what the girls wanted.

Every time a slayer showed up nearby, or at least in America, Giles would go through more extensive searches to locate the girl, to let her know her history, and to offer her the chance to protect the world against the forces of evil.

There just weren't all that many girls nearby, so Giles mostly had little to do, aside from mull over the Watchers Council accounts and look for new headquarter locations.

However, there was something interesting about how the red dots began to form on the map. The majority of red dots collected over the earth's fault lines. The Ring of Fire.

* * *

"I take it that you don't really touch your surroundings," Fred said. 

"When you spend a lot of time in a clinic, you wouldn't want to."

She and Galen stood in a back stairwell of the library, away from any prying eyes. The most they had to fear was that someone would figure out they had no intentions of reading or checking out books, but she didn't want to get scolded for talking to Galen.

Fred guided his hands for him, resting a palm against the wall.

"This is the wall," she stated, pushing his hand so it rubbed against the white paint.

"Yup. Big, flat, vertical surface. Got it."

Fred kicked him in the shoe. "Don't get all smart-assy with me. Walls are different. They can tell you where you are. Notice that this is _not_ a brick wall, nor is it made of wooden panels, or cement. It is _not_ smooth - it has lots of bumps along its surface. This… is a light switch. The _smooth_ plastic and tell-tale flippy thing give it away."

Galen's lips twitched. "Flippy thing."

"Hush up!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"This is the railing. Obviously the railing is important, because it can tell you whether you're expecting to go up or down…"

* * *

They could hear the demonic insects long before they actually reached the nest. 

Gunn gagged loudly when he saw the tunnel ahead, swarmed with thousands of cockroach-like demons.

"Fuck, man! I knew that those things must've evolved from demons."

"A lot of things evolved from demons," Wesley replied, watching the cat-sized roaches scurry around. "Shall we stop to examine them or penetrate the nest?"

"I ain't penetratin' nothing'!"

"I meant," Wesley gave Gunn a look. "We can pause to see if these are merely a precursor to something else, or if we should go in with guns blazing."

"Blazing," Gunn said quickly. "I like that idea."

"Me too," Angel added. "Make sure you know how to work that thing."

"They aren't native to this dimension," Wesley warned. "I could try to find more on them."

"We already took that route, after these things made bones out of a woman," Angel said snappily. "The flamethrower, Wes?"

"Alright, good argument," Wesley sighed, pulling on a pair of work gloves. He turned on the fuel while Angel and Gunn backed up to a safe distance, then aimed at the cockroaches… and squirted them with the gas.

"Hmm. It didn't spark," Wesley said, releasing the trigger and watching the cockroaches hiss and go into a frenzy. "But they don't seem to like the smell of it, either."

"Are we going to need a lighter up in here?" Gunn asked. "Because that works, too, but then we're gonna have to douse all of the bastards with gasoline."

"I believe it may be kerosene," Wesley corrected. "Let me try once more-"

A large blast of flames made all three men jump back. Wesley let go of the trigger and the flames burned up quickly, lingering on the puddles of gas on the floor and on the screaming cockroach demons.

"GOOD LORD!"

"I thought you knew have to work this thing," Angel scolded.

"Your eyebrows got singed," Gunn informed Wesley.

"Fred obviously hasn't perfected the nozzle," Wesley said. "But it does work."

"Alright, fine," Angel decided, watching the cockroaches sizzle on the floor. "But the others are scurrying away. We need to get right into the nest so we can take them all out."

* * *

"Hey baby." 

Kennedy looked up in surprise, spotting Willow over the counter.

"Well," she said in surprise, folding her arms and leaning against the front desk. "What have we got here? A potential customer?"

Willow laughed at that. "Everyone would freak if I got anything pierced."

"Sure that a lovely young lady like yourself wouldn't want a nipple ring?" Kennedy asked.

Willow blushed and looked around, but the other employees were busy with a couple of clients and there were only a couple people waiting around. Everyone in the shop already had piercing or tattoos, or had a biker/metal/punk look to them. No one could have cared less about the discussion of nipple rings.

"Maybe that's too bold for you," Kennedy added saucily. "You could get your belly button done. Even the 'good girls' like that."

"You think I'm a good girl."

"Course not. I know you're a bad girl," Kennedy grinned wickedly, showing off her tongue stud.

* * *

The last of the demon roaches were twitching and squealing in sticky trails of black tar. 

"I wouldn't step in that, if I were you," Wesley advised, surveying the mass of burning bodies to look for anything that moved.

"Looks toxic," Angel glanced at the bubbling fluids. "Smells worse. _Ugh_. I'm so glad we're done here."

"We'll have to come back, in case we missed any," Wesley said. "We should wait a couple days and see, otherwise later on we might have another full infestation again."

"For now, let's get out of here," Angel said. "I think we got them all, and bigger demons will be drawn by the heat, and the _food_."

"Nasty," Gunn muttered. "I've got to walk my girl home, anyway. Library closes soon."

"Your girl?" Wesley repeated.

"What? I didn't see anyone else laying claim to her," Gunn said.

"Because she's not an _object_," Wesley grit his teeth.

"Give me that?" Angel asked, taking the flamethrower from Wesley to him keep from setting Gunn on fire

* * *

…

* * *

"Welcome home, kitten," Lorne greeted when Fred came through the front door with Gunn. 

"Lorne!" Fred grinned, giving her green friend a one-armed hug.

"Ooh, what have you got in the bag?"

"Just… stuff," Fred smiled, ducking her head.

"Girl loves the library," Gunn shook his head.

"What are you doing here, Lorne?" Fred asked curiously.

"Dropped by to pay my friends a visit," Lorne replied.

"Are you going to be going to the library often?" Angel asked Fred.

"Uhm, yes, actually, I was thinking of that," Fred admitted. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Well, it's just that you never mentioned you met a _guy_ there," Angel said. "According to Cordelia, you're future husband."

"I specifically told you, I'm not breeding with anyone," Fred gave Cordelia a glare.

Cordelia shrugged. "If he's a hottie, you might change your mind."

"I don't mean to sound possessive, but I'd like to know if you're dating someone," Gunn said.

Angel and Wesley both agreed quickly, in unison.

"You met a studly fellow?" Lorne asked. "Well how come I'm not in the loop?"

"Everyone calm down," Fred said, setting aside her bag. "I know if seems like I'm the helpless little girl, so let's go over a few things. One, the guy in question is blind. He cannot possibly be seeing me because of my 'good looks.'"

"I think you're wrong," Wesley offered. "Even your voice is beautiful."

Fred looked at him with a strange smile and then laughed, and Wesley deflated. "Yeah, if you like a girl who sounds like a mosquito. Two, he knows I'm weird and nerdy. Three, he asked me if I could teach him how to _read_."

"That's the worst pick up line ever," Gunn muttered.

"Shush up! I was teaching him the entire length of our 'date.'"

"And some guys are into the domination stuff."

"You guys are sick!" Fred cried. "It's an innocent, harmless friendship. He never once said anything questionable. He was almost scared to touch me."

"He _will_ be scared to touch you," Angel vowed. "I want to meet this… what is his name?"

"Galen B-" Fred stopped herself. "Ohhh, no! No, you're not doing a background check on him."

"Why not?" Angel asked, feigning innocence. "If he has nothing to hide…."

"It's like a violation of our student-teacher trust," Fred objected. "And he's been honest with me already, about how he spends most of his life around nurses. I think it's very sad, and I'm not going to let you humiliate him."

"I want you to bring him here," Angel said. "Or we can all show up at the library."

"And get us kicked out?!" Fred blurted. "No! Please… don't. I know you're all worried, and that's reasonable. But please, have some faith in me. I promise I'll tell you if I ever get worried that he's focusing on anything besides learning. Let me get him to trust me before I drag him here to meet all of my psychotic, overprotective friends."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Angel pouted slightly.

"Stop meddling," Fred warned sternly. "Let me work this out on my own."

"Alright," Gunn said. "But you should start letting one of us walk you to the library. And make sure this freak knows that you've got a whole lot of dangerous men who adore you."

"You, Angel, Wesley, Lorne - I think Cordelia counts - Buffy certainly does, Xander, Kennedy, Willow, and Giles…" she paused, taking a deep breath. "I've got ten people who would undoubtedly _kill_ anyone who tried to mess with me," Fred stated, almost proud. "And I'll be sure to let him know what a wonderful family I have, and drop hints about your mean, aggressive tendencies."

* * *

"Do these pants make me look fat?" 

Dawn blinked, both disturbed and caught off guard by the question. Buffy had put on her uniform, again, but this time the nauseating self pride was gone. Her sister looked worried.

"Buffy… you're obsessing," Dawn told her. "You're fine."

"I didn't… I should iron these pants," Buffy realized. "That's why they look all strange. Bunchy. Do they look bunchy to you?"

"You should iron them, yes, and then they're _fine_," Dawn told her. "Would you please just sit down? I haven't been able to watch any mindless television programs with you for a while."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. "I'll go change."

Dawn sighed a little when Buffy went back to her room, wondering if Buffy was going to be coming out at all. The last few days were so hectic… the bitch Monica had left her alone, but she still had a sense of being ostracized. It was worse when Buffy didn't have any spare time to even think about her sister, or her friends. It'd been all, training this and training that. Not that Buffy getting a job was a bad thing.

"What's on?" Buffy asked gently, returning to the dim living room in her pajamas.

"Uh, Scrubs," Dawn answered.

"Ooh, goodie," Buffy settled down on the couch. "I hope that Good Sam isn't anything like that. I'd hate to run into a real life Dr. Cox."

"He's just emotionally protective," Dawn noted. "Every once in a while, he lets someone see his true colors."

* * *

"What are you doing?" 

Galen's voice was very low, and would not even be audible if the house wasn't completely silent.

"You took your nighttime meds?" Eamon asked in an equally low voice, holding the knob while he shut Galen's door, so it shut without so much as a click.

"Uh-huh."

Eamon waited for his eyes to pick up the dim light coming through Galen's window, then he went over to Galen's bed and sat down.

They had to be quiet - it was bad to be up after Lights Out. It was even worse for Eamon to be in Galen's room. Being in someone else's room was worse than invading personal space.

"What are you doing?" Galen asked again.

"You shouldn't have taken your meds."

"Got to," Galen replied. "Nurses watch, make sure I take it."

"Rachel's been skipping her meds," Eamon told Galen. "She pretends to swallow them, and spits them back out later."

"They dissolve," Galen made a face, but Eamon could barely tell in the dark. "Like petrol on the tongue. Can't get rid of the taste if you let them sit."

"Yeah, whatever," Eamon muttered. "Look, Galen. You and I are a lot alike."

"You like the Beatles?"

"I mean, we both come from across the ocean, yeah?"

"I dunno what you mean."

"I mean I'm Irish, you're English."

"I'm _American_, dumbass."

"You're English, I know it," Eamon reached out to pet Galen's cheek, intrigued when Galen _purred_. "These drugs make you loopy, but you've got a spot of cockney in you, when you sober up. Very watered down, perhaps, but I _know_."

"Do I look English?" Galen asked, puzzled. He was pleased when Eamon's hand stroked his face, tracing high cheekbones.

"I don't think anyone can really _look_ English," Eamon said. "But it's in the way you speak, when your head is clear. You need to stop taking the tranquilizers that they give you. You're not _right_, even the day after…."

"I get nightmares," Galen shivered.

"About what? Personally, I have nightmares about shagging me own mum, and she looks like a cow. It quite a horrible experience, but I manage."

Galen snickered, his mind picking up '_shagging'_ and '_cow_.' "I dream I'm on fire, and the flames won't go out. And a different dream that I'm running, through a park, or maybe a graveyard. I don't know why, but I'm like… chasing something."

"Or being chased."

"Yeah. And apparently I thrash a bit, and the nurses don't like that. Tranquilizers are good. I sleep the dreamless sleep."

"The sleep of the dead," Eamon grimaced. "Galen. Did you ever stop to think, maybe these nightmares are real?"

"What?" Galen looked panicky. "No…."

"Shh. You got to keep your voice low, remember? I could get kicked out if Mary caught me in here."

"I'm sorry," Galen whispered.

"'salright," Eamon replied. "But you lost your memory, yea? These nightmares might be memories."

Galen shook his head 'no.'

"Yes. Yes, Galen, I think they are. That's why they're so vivid, and they frighten you. But you can't be frightened. Don't you want to know where you come from?"

"I want that more 'n anything."

"Then stop taking your medication. At least the tranquilizers. Do the nurses check to make sure you swallowed the pills?"

"Not anymore."

"Not anymore," Eamon repeated. "Keep the pills under your tongue, Galen, and spit them out later. The nightmares might be scary, but they're there for a reason. You can't suppress them; it's unhealthy."

"I don't wanna be unhealthy," Galen sounded like a child.

"You'll be fine," Eamon promised. "You'll remember everything."

* * *

A/N: I am not supporting the idea that medication is bad, nor do I want people to stop taking their medication when they should be. I'm not a doctor, so don't think I'm making any medical statements in here, cause I'm not. That's all.


	7. Peer Pressure

**A/N: so... this is mostly centric on the group home. There's a new love triangle...  
There's a lot of swearing, so note that this story is rated M. Okay? Good.**

**I hope this is funny to someone other than me...**

* * *

"Dawn!" Buffy called, banging on her sister's door. "Giles is already here to take you to school. You need to get ready." 

"Just a minute!"

Buffy sighed and walked away.

"How is your training going?" Giles asked when Buffy returned to the kitchen.

"There's a lot of work to being a security guard," Buffy said wearily. "But after I get my license as a trained guard, the hospital can hire me. It reminds me of a self-defense class. In fact, I think they alternate in the same building."

"I hope you continue to be motivated for this job," Giles said. "And remember to be friendly. Likeable security guards end up having a very good tenure."

Buffy tilted her head thoughtfully. "That's why the hospital has such character."

Kennedy came out of the bedroom she shared with Willow, carrying a bottle of chocolate syrup.

"That went missing days ago," Buffy frowned as Kennedy put the bottle back into the fridge. "Why do you have it?"

"I don't know," Kennedy said, barely bothering to feign innocence. "I set it on the nightstand and forgot it was there."

"Why was it in your room in the first place?" Buffy asked. "Oh, wait. Ohhhh god. Take that out of my fridge right now!"

"Relax, it's sanitary," Kennedy assured her. "I licked the syrup off Willow, not the lid or anything like that."

"TMI! Either t-take it back or throw it away," Buffy ordered. Giles looked uncomfortable while Kennedy took the bottle back.

"Guess I have to pay for this now, huh?" Kennedy asked.

"Is there anything else in the house you defiled with your pervyness?" Buffy demanded.

"Who's a perv?" Dawn asked, pulling back her hair. She saw Kennedy holding the chocolate syrup and scrunched her nose. "You guys stole the chocolate syrup? Heh… That's pretty cool."

"I'll go wake up Willow," Kennedy said to excuse herself, tapping her tongue ring against her teeth and heading out.

"STOP THAT!" Buffy yelled after her, shuddering again.

"What's the malfunction, sis?" Dawn asked laughingly. "Yes, they have sex together."

"Guhh… you shouldn't be talking about that kind of stuff."

"Buffy? I'm almost old enough to _have_ sex," Dawn reminded her, searching around for some cereal bars. "You should be grateful if I'm only talking about it."

"Don't remind me," Buffy groaned. "Then we're gonna have to have _The Talk_."

"Hate to break it to ya, but I already know where babies come from."

"Who told you?!" Buffy demanded, earning giggles from Dawn.

* * *

"WHO THE FUCK PUT THIS HERE?!" 

Jenny instinctively flinched away from Galen shouting, and then she fled.

"What's wrong, G?" Rachel asked, humor in her voice.

"You," Galen growled. "You put this in here!"

"Yogurt's good for you," Rachel replied, licking her lips.

"**YOGURT** **IS** **DISGUSTING**!"

"What's the trouble?" Mary asked, coming out of the office.

"I played a prank on Galen and he's taking it like D-day," Rachel grumbled.

"SHE DEFILED MY PUDDING!" Galen yelled, slamming the cupboard shut and then banging his head against the door.

"Calm down, Galen-"

"That's MY pudding in MY cupboard! She's not allowed to touch it!"

"All I did was put in a pack of yogurt," Rachel sniffed. "Your precious pudding cups are in the fridge."

"You _TOUCHED_ pudding cups!"

"_SO_ _WHAT_? I HATE pudding. There! I SAID IT! Are you happy now?!"

"NO! Are you _FUCKING_ _INSANE_?"

"Yeah, I'm _FUCKING _INSANE, but at least I don't get a hard-on over my goddamn snacks!"

"You sick fucking _bitch_!"

Mary blew a whistle sharply, making them both flinch. "That's enough! Both of you knock it off right now or else. Galen, Rachel already said that your snacks are safe. Rachel, switch them back and keep the yogurt the _hell_ out of his cupboard. Both of you, give each other five compliments and make it up right now or Lights Out will be an hour early tonight."

Rachel and Galen stood in heavy silence for a while being Rachel grudgingly spoke.

"I'm… sorry. I guess."

"That's not an apology."

"I'm _sorry_ that Galen's such a freak."

"Can I hit her?"

"If you want to be kicked out," Mary replied sharply.

Rachel let out a strained sigh and managed to grit out, "I'm sorry I switched your pudding for yogurt."

"Sorry that I called you insane."

"Whatever."

"Now compliments," Mary prompted. "Or everyone's going to bed an hour early."

Rachel grit her teeth, knowing they'd be bitched at for a week if they made everyone suffer. "You're smart. I guess."

"You have nice hair," Galen mumbled.

"You have good clothes."

"You're clean."

"You're organized."

"You're witty."

"You're a good… person."

"You play cards well."

"You're pretty cool."

Mary paused, mentally counting the compliments. "Alright. Now both of you have just volunteered yourselves for dishes duty. I don't want to hear any more arguing."

Rachel forced a small smile until Mary went back to the office, then scowled at Galen.

"Asshole."

"Miserable bitch," he muttered quietly, because the office was directly connected to the kitchen. "Get your shit out of my fucking cupboard."

"Yes, master," Rachel snarled under her breath, going to the fridge to retrieve the pudding cups and set them on the counter. "What's your pudding fetish?" Rachel asked as she began to put the yogurt back in the fridge.

"None of your fucking business. Whore."

"I was only asking, assface."

The insult didn't hurt him as much as it jogged a memory, but the memory was too vague and it faded before he could grasp it at all, leaving behind an uneasy feeling.

"It was the only stuff worth eating in the hospital. Butterscotch, cheesecake, fudge, vanilla, tapioca, I like it all. It's safe food."

"Guh. I _hate_ tapioca. That's why I hate pudding, I think. It was the only stuff I ever had."

"Shame. I still wonder what all the little lumps are made of."

"Fish eggs," Rachel replied. "Hey, as long as we agree that I'm a bitch-slut-whore and you're an asshole-fucktard, can we go somewhere a little more private? I need to ask you a question."

"This question better be worth my time, or you can burn in hell and get shafted by demonic goat for the rest of eternity."

"Likewise, cream puff."

* * *

"Good morning," Fred said cheerfully as she stepped off the stairs. 

"Good morning, Fred," Wesley greeted.

Fred smiled at him. "How're my guys doing this morning?"

"Angel is in a cleaning mood," Wesley said. "Gunn is currently being held hostage. I'm hiding."

"Ah," Fred tried not to smile even more. "Is it dust bunnies, or crusted blood on blades?"

"Both, apparently," Wesley grimaced.

"This is really Cordelia's fault," Fred said heavily, both looking over to Cordelia, who was now glaring at them.

"How is this my fault?"

"You're supposed to have sex with Angel," Fred said. "To keep him from noticing when the swords get a little crusty. To keep him happy. But not too happy!"

"It's not my fault the PTB gave me a mother of all headaches," Cordelia complained. "Really, the headaches are supposed to go away. At least my head hasn't exploded."

"There's coffee and sandwiches," Wesley offered Fred.

"Hm. Sounds tempting," Fred smiled. "And coffee's always good. I'll go get some, to help me wake up."

Cordelia snorted, "Caffeine is the last thing you really need."

* * *

"What is it?" Galen asked when they were in a corner of the living room, far away from Eamon and Addison, who were playing poker at the game table. 

"I was just wondering, do you think Eamon's a fag or something? And for that matter, are you a fag, too? Not that I care or anything, but I'd like to know for sure."

"I don't need to listen to this crap-"

"Stay here. Do you want him to notice?" Rachel asked, glancing over at Eamon. "If you ask me, you and him have been getting a little _cozy_."

"Therefore I'm a fag? No one asked you in the first place."

"I'm not stupid, fucktard," Rachel hissed. "Plenty of nights I'll be lying awake and hear _his_ door open and shut and then _your_ door open and shut. I know damn well he's been in your room after hours, so don't even deny it."

"Yes, he's been in my room," Galen said, annoyed. "That doesn't mean anything."

"What are you doing in there?" Rachel asked, a teasing tone in her voice. "Does he kiss you first, or does he skip through all that foreplay crap?"

Galen flushed with embarrassment. "We don't…."

"You don't stop for foreplay?"

"We don't do that stuff," Galen hissed.

"Yeah. Right."

"Why are you lying in bed at night listening anyway?"

"Because a lady needs to get off, too, moron," Rachel retorted. "It sucks balls being in here, and I'm not going to go without. I know you must do the same."

"I don't."

"Lying bastard," Rachel sniffed. "_All_ guys masturbate, unless there's something _wrong_ with you. I was thinking, maybe Eamon was skipping all that and getting his rocks off with you."

"_No._ He speaks to me…."

"He talks dirty to you?"

"Would you lay off of it? That's not what goes on. We've only talked. I wouldn't even know what to do if he'd want that."

Rachel gave Galen the most sympathetic look she could manage. "Your head injury really fucked you up, didn't it, sweetie? Because there's no _way_ you're a virgin. Of course, logically speaking-" she giggled because logic generally left her out in the cold "-virginity is all in the head. No wonder you're so _shy,_" she ran a hand over his chest, purposefully brushing across his nipple and laughed again when he trembled. "You can sneak into my room anytime, and I'll show you the ropes. I've never been with a virgin before, but I think it'll be really _cute_. I'd love to see what you're hiding under all these silly clothes."

"I don't want to have sex with you. I hate you."

"So you admit you'd rather fuck Eamon?" Rachel asked, her eyes flashing with equal interest and she laughed at him again when he looked confused. "If nothing else, you need to figure out if you like me, or if you like Eamon. Then you can let me know, because as nice as it would be to have you between my thighs, it's just as hot thinking about you and Eamon getting it on. And I'd want to watch sometime."

Galen thought of all of this happening while maintaining the silence necessary to keep the orderlies from knowing and began to laugh. "You're insane, Rachel."

"Well, at least you could give me the details-"

"No and no," Galen said firmly, walking away. "Leave me alone."

* * *

"Can I talk to you, Giles?" Willow asked. 

"Yes," Giles said quickly. "Certainly. How did you get here?"

"Kennedy dropped me off," Willow explained. "I was thinking I could catch a ride back, or just walk. It's not that far."

"What brings you to my humble home?"

"I want to help with the Potentials," Willow told him. "I know I've been kind of strict on the magic use, but I can scry for the new slayers far better than an entire coven."

Giles smiled a little, removing his glasses to clean them. "Yes, I have to agree there. What caused the change the heart?"

"I can't stand being a house girlfriend," Willow shuddered. "I need to do something. It'd be different if Dawn was home during the day, but she isn't. Besides, the thought of Andrew leading the slayers makes me want to kill someone."

"I share those feelings," Giles admitted. "Although I haven't had much luck convincing any girls to follow. The Potentials that didn't die left after the last apocalypse, and show no interest in following Buffy's leadership again."

"Of course not. Buffy doesn't want to be a leader and they don't want to die," Willow said, taking a seat on Giles' couch. "The ones that were willing to fight went other places, to slay evil and find new slayers."

"The trouble is, we have no organization," Giles sighed. "I want to put the Council back together again, with new control, but it's quite difficult. Apparently a collection of watchers in England are stealing my thunder."

"Aw," Willow pouted. "Darn thunder-stealers."

"What I'd really like to know is how the spell worked," Giles said. "The one that activated all of the slayers."

"I told you, Giles," Willow frowned. "Kennedy kept me grounded and I used the scythe."

"Yes, but _how_ did it work," Giles continued, moving to the large map hanging on his wall. "There are hundreds of Potentials at any given time, but we don't know exactly how the slayer comes to be. Is being a Potential like being born with a certain gene, or are Potentials also chosen at a certain age? For that matter, is there a certain limit to the number of Potentials that can exist? And where the spell comes in, does this mean that girls can be born slayers, or will they become slayers as opposed to becoming Potential slayers?"

"So many questions," Willow mused, clasping her hands together. "And I don't know any of the answers."

* * *

"So the letter A is represented by a single dot in the top left and B is like A with another dot directly below it," Fred explained. 

"'Kay."

"And the letter C is like A with another dot _beside_ it," Fred said, letting Galen trace his fingers over the three letters. She had used a blank piece of paper and a sharp pencil to make the ridges. On the paper she'd put the written letters above the Braille form, with small bumps to show that there were eight possible dot locations, and larger bumps where a dot would actually be.

Using the paper meant she did everything backward, but it worked.

Fred watched Galen for a moment, frowning at him. Usually he was very pleased to be learning things, and would smile when she gave him something new to examine with his finger tips.

"What's wrong? You look like you're not listening."

"I'm listening," Galen assured her.

"Spill," Fred said, pushing the paper aside. "Is it the doctors stressing you out?"

"No," Galen fidgeted.

"Well come on, then. You can tell me," Fred encouraged. "I'm your friend now."

"It's Rachel."

"Who's Rachel?"

"Rachel is a girl at my group home," Galen said, resting his head in his hands. "She thinks that I'm gay. Am I gay?"

Fred blinked and then sat up, trying to think of what to say. "Uh…ummm… That's really not even something I can answer. I mean, that's a really personal thing and only you can tell if you're, um, homosexual."

"Okay," Galen said. "How do I tell?"

"Well, sexual desire for men is a dead giveaway," Fred replied nervously.

"Like how?"

Fred decided to remain professional about the matter, scientific.

"Like when a guy engages in sexual activities, his partner is either or a man or a woman, or maybe he imagines being with a man or a woman."

"I don't."

Fred paused. "You don't think of either a man _or_ a woman?"

"No, I don't engage in sexual activity. Is that weird?"

"Well, I… I mean, you _do_ live in a group home, so I can't imagine you'd have the privacy-"

"Rachel told me that _all _guys masturbate unless there's something wrong with them. But I don't. Maybe there's something wrong with me."

"Maybe you just don't feel the urge to, which is fine. I mean, I can't imagine that all guys _always_ feel the urge to do… stuff."

"But everyone makes it seem like it's the most important thing in the world. But I don't even think about it, and I don't do it. Even when Rachel brought it up, so I obviously had to think about it, I still didn't want to do it. I just don't care at all."

"Maybe you should ask your doctor about this kind of stuff," Fred said uncomfortably.

"So there _is_ something wrong with me."

"That's not what I said! It's just that, given the fact that you're on a lot of medication, it might be possible that this… lack of interest is a side effect."

"You think so?" Galen asked, sounding more hopeful.

"Yeah. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. Or maybe being blind kind of stalled you, because guys usually check out girls, and you haven't adapted to it yet. I'm going to shut up now, because I can't possibly be helpful anymore. Do you want to continue with the Braille alphabet?"

"Yeah. Sorry I brought this up."

"N-no, it's okay. I mean, if you don't ask, how are you going to know?" Fred shrugged.

"I'm just confused," Galen sighed a little.

"Teenagers are often confused, before they discover themselves," Fred noted. "I'm really surprised, though, that you've somehow lost your sexual identity as well as your memories. Maybe you were ambiguous?"

"I was what?"

"Bisexual. Undetermined, both ways, or simply nonchalant about gender."

"Or I'm asexual."

"Or you reproduce asexually," Fred said, in a strange, teasing way. "And if that's the case, I'd _really_ like to document that, because that's not what humans are designed to do."

"You pickin' on me?"

"Yup. Want to learn the letter D?"

"Yes, please."

* * *

"It's almost lights out," Brenda called out. "Time to take medication." 

Jenny just about skipped over, somehow always looking like an eager child.

"I think I'm coming down with a cold, Brenda."

"Do you need cough syrup?"

"Is it grape flavored?"

"Cherry," Brenda replied.

"No thank you."

"Here's yours, Jenny," Brenda said, giving Jenny a little plastic cup with her nighttime medication.

"I need water," Jenny said, scurrying to the sink where Rachel was wiping her hands of sink water.

"Let me get yours for you, Galen," Rachel said in a husky voice, picking up two small cups and filling them with enough water to down their medications.

"Thanks," Galen said hesitantly. Of the five residents, Addison and Eamon did not have to take medication. Of course, even Tylenol was monitored by the supervisors, because Rachel and Jenny would be especially prone to abusing any form of pills.

Galen and Rachel were both given their tranquilizers, where Rachel noticed his prescription was very different from hers. Probably because hers was made to control the voices in her head.

Rachel put the pills on her tongue and took a swig of water, swallowing with a faint gulp. The two pills were kept under her tongue.

Galen did about the same trick, except that he couldn't help making a face from the disgusting taste as the pills' casings started to dissolve in his mouth.

Brenda was too busy making sure Jenny swallowed all of her pills, which kept her semi-sane and also sedated her so she could sleep. By the time Jenny finished taking them one-by-one, Rachel was already calling out goodnights and Galen was brushing his teeth so he could spit out the pills along with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.

I want to remember everything.

* * *

The thick haze Galen usually experienced was pitch black now as the lights were all shut off, the front door locked, the office and medicine cabinets completely secured. 

For the first time in… forever, he _could_ _not_ _fall asleep_.

His mind kept racing, about nothing, about everything. He felt like it was the afternoon when the medication used to be weaker, and was wearing off, and he could actually think. It was a breath of crisp air on a hot, muggy day.

The time went by quickly, eleven at night, midnight, one in the morning. He was already sitting up, cross-legged on his bed with spiders crawling through his vision when he heard the familiar creak of a door opening and shutting.

He could barely stop from giggling aloud. This was a little bit worse than the tranquilizers, which made everything slur together. 

His door opened, as anticipated, and Galen fancied he could hear Eamon's heart beating.

"Hello."

"Hello yourself," Eamon replied, waiting only a moment and then he was on Galen's bed, joining the other man in sitting cross-legged. "Did you skip your meds?"

Galen thought for a moment, but he was too suspicious of Eamon. "No… I chickened out and swallowed them anyway."

"Oh," Eamon sounded very disappointed. The silence was harder when Galen was this awake. "I take it you'll be dozing off soon, then."

"I'm not so sleepy tonight," Galen ventured. "I can talk for a while."

"Alright," Eamon shifted, leaning back on his hands and unfolding his legs, so he was more comfortable.

"Why do you keep coming to see me like this?" Galen asked.

Eamon looked at him for a while, entranced by the other man's eyes, although they could not see him.

"Because your guard's not up," Eamon replied. "You can be yourself. And that includes the glasses. Can't sleep with your shades on, and I like being able to see those beautiful eyes."

"They can't be beautiful," Galen said, feeling confused again. "They're all broken."

"You ever miss it? Being able to see?"

"Every day," Galen replied immediately. "I can't read, I'm not allowed to go anywhere by myself, and I don't even know what I look like."

"You're a very handsome man," Eamon assured him. "If you had to choose, would you rather be able to see, or be able to remember who you are?"

"I don't know. I think I'd rather remember who I am."

They both heard another door open and close. A moment after that, Rachel entered the room.

"What are you doing here?" Eamon demanded, as Rachel climbed, unwelcome, onto Galen's bed.

"Seeing what _you're_ doing here," Rachel replied.

"We were talking," Galen said.

"Yeah," Rachel snickered, "Like little girls at a slumber party."

"You're the one in the PJs," Eamon pointed out. "Why don't you go back to your room?"

"No way," Rachel refused, "I either want to see you two make out, or he's fair game."

"_What_?"

"She's crazy," Galen reminded Eamon. "Did the voices in your head tell you to do this?"

"I'm not allowed to speak for the voices," Rachel retorted. "Like you're not fucked up, either."

"Is that what you wanted?" Eamon asked Galen. "To make out with me?"

"No," Galen replied nervously. "That was Rachel's fantasy world."

"Then it's settled," Rachel declared. "Galen is mine."

"What do you mean he's yours?" Eamon snapped. "I was here first."

"If anyone should reintroduce our sweet little friend to the world of sex, it should be me," Rachel said. "I am female, after all, and I'm very experienced. He already said he doesn't want to do it with you."

"That's not what I said," Galen paled, not wanting to be owned by Rachel.

"That's not what he said," Eamon repeated.

"So you _do_ want him?" Rachel asked.

"Galen is the only eligible person in this hell hole," Eamon replied. "Jenny has the mind of a hyper-active six year old, Addison is a brat, and you're a slut."

Galen grew even paler. "You're gay?"

"'M not gay, I'm bisexual," Eamon corrected.

"He's also an alcoholic," Rachel reminded Galen. "You want me."

"I'm fine if I lay off the drink," Eamon scowled. "Like you really want a psychotic hussy who's just as likely to shag your best mate."

"It's not about _commitment, _it's about escaping the pain," Rachel said. "Galen's a bit of a virgin now, so I can be his first with no strings attached. I can teach him a whole new way to use his hands, among other things."

"You're not offering anything I can't dish out," Eamon snorted. "But I won't be so demanding of you, Galen. She doesn't even pronounce that beautiful name correctly."

"Is this what you want, _Gaaaay-len_?" Rachel pronounced his name properly, dragging out the first syllable mockingly. "You want him over me?"

_I don't want either of you_, Galen groaned in his mind, feeling a headache coming on. 

"I'm better suited for him," Eamon stated.

"I've got pussy," Rachel said, as though that was all that mattered.

"More like a gaping abyss," Eamon muttered.

Galen sighed and fell backwards, letting his head hit his pillow.

On second thought, he was completely wiped out. Sleep was good.

"I can still pleasure him better," Eamon added. "I can pleasure _anyone_ better. If this is really his metaphorical 'first time' then it should be good for him."

"If you're so good at pleasuring, you'd better prove it," Rachel challenged.

"How would you suggest I go about doing that?"

"Simple," Rachel said. "We'll have an old-school kissing contest. Whoever _Gay-len_ chooses as the best gets to fuck him."

"How would that even work? You might cheat and try to slip your hands into his pants at the same time."

"Then we'll have rules," Rachel decided. "Tongue is completely fine, hands stay above clothes."

"How about above the belt as well?" Eamon suggested.

"Fine," Rachel looked at Galen, her eyes demanding agreement or suggestions, but he was already asleep on his pillow (or at least pretending to sleep).

"Damn," Eamon muttered.

"Should we wake him up?"

Conscious

"No. He took his tranquilizers tonight. He'll only fall asleep again while one of us is kissing him. Let him sleep and we'll try again tomorrow night."

"Make sure he skips his fucking meds tomorrow night," Rachel snapped at Eamon as she got off of the bed and went back to her room.

Eamon glared after her as she left, then watched the other man sleep for a while before he finally retreated as well.

When they were both gone, Galen sighed in relief.

Great, now they both want to kiss me and have me choose. This is gonna suck.


	8. Angels

**A/N: I did not write this in Microsoft Word (computer dun broked), I typed this in the editor itself.**

**Long chapter, VERY important. You'll want to read.**

* * *

Galen took a pudding cup at random and, with bare feet, went into the living room.  
He felt the presence of another went he sat on the couch - the distinct expectant silence of Jenny. She also had a rocking thing she did, which gave her away. 

"What is this?" Galen asked.

"Butterscotch," Jenny answered. She was good for some things.

"Score," Galen cheered softly, peeling away the cover.

Crisp and clean.

Jenny shifted on the couch, still staring at Galen.

"What?" he asked after a long time.

"You haven't got your glasses on," she said, holding giggles in her voice.

"No I haven't. What's your point?"

"You've always got your glasses on," Jenny said. "Always got them, blocking your eyes. Do you know what color your eyes are?"

"Enlighten me."

"Blue! Like the sky," Jenny laughed now. "Like the ocean. Blue, blue, blue. Blue. Bluuuuuuh. Ha ha ha."

"What's so funny?"

"Eyes are the window to the soul," Jenny said, sounding like she was echoing someone else. "My mama told me that. Can I see your sooooul, Galen? It's the color of blueberries. Do you love me?"

"Jenny? Fetch me my glasses, will you?"

"Where are they?" she asked, as eager as a golden retriever. It was probably wrong to use her for random tasks, but it was better than giving her the cold shoulder or something.

"They should be in my room."

"I can't go in your room, that's against the rules. Are they in the kitchen?"

"No, they're in my room, on the table."

"But I can't go in your room!" Jenny howled, as if the thought of disobeying orders gave her incredible pain.

"I'll get them," Eamon said before leaving briefly.

"No, no, no, no, NO," Jenny was still freaking out when Eamon came back five seconds later and handed Galen his glasses.

"Thanks Eamon. Calm down, J," Galen told her.

"That's against the rules," Jenny whimpered.

"No it isn't, Jen," Galen assured her, keeping his voice at a purr. "I need a spot of help, remember? It's okay for Eamon to do that, because I asked him."

"It's not against the rules?"

"No, not in this case. It's alright, love."

"Your soul went away," Jenny said, realizing Galen had hidden his eyes again. She didn't like the glasses, because it was like Galen never saw her, didn't want to, didn't have to. Even though she knew he couldn't see with or without them, the glasses were like a door slamming shut.

"That's too bad," Galen said with only half sympathy, all of his attention returned to his morning snack.

"You fell asleep," Eamon said simply, an accusing note in his voice, but also good natured.

"Yeah," Galen couldn't think of anything to say to that.

"Rachel thinks she owns you," Eamon said. "I'm going to show her wrong."

Galen only wished that was good for him, but it only meant yet another person trying to dominate another part of his life.

* * *

"Welcome to Good Samaritan Hospital." 

Buffy was in a dreamland. The hospital had somehow magically changed - nothing physically different except for a few new potted plants. She was no longer a visitor, she was part of the staff now.

Well, almost. Her current job was next to being an intern, but she was finally getting paid.

Her uniform was neatly pressed - Dawn accused her of being obsessive again when Buffy tried to iron out every single crease - her shoes were shiny black, her blonde hair pulled back and serious.

She felt like a slayer again, but this was different. She was a public servant, part of a team.

"SECURITY" was finally on her pale blue shirt.

Buffy walked through the hospital lobby slowly, carefully surveying everything with new eyes. All of those patients - the old ones with walkers, the young ones with children - they were her people. She was here to protect them and offer help.

"Summers," Braham said, and Buffy reported to the security desk.

"Your name tag."

Buffy couldn't have been more proud to take the glossy black pin and attach it to her uniform.

SUMMERS, B.

_That's me. Hello, I'm B. I'll be your safety officer this morning._

* * *

"Get off," Addison snarled to Jenny. 

She flinched and moved away from him, about ready to cry. All she wanted was some help, someone...

"Blueberries," she said when she saw Galen again.

"What was that?" Brenda asked, looking at Jenny, who was a fairly chubby woman with an overall warmth and innocence to her.

"Can I have pancakes?" she asked. "With blueberries in them."

"You certainly can, but you'll need help with the stove."

"Galen can help!" Jenny declared happily.

Brenda remained closed off, not letting her dismay show. "Yes, he can help." In actuality, Galen would be just as useless as Jenny. Neither of them understood the concept of a hot stove.

"Galen," Brenda called him from the living room. "Would you like to help Jenny with pancakes?"

Galen learned a lot about tones of voice, and knew that one meant he didn't have a choice in the matter, and he shouldn't give any lip about it.

Jenny was clapping her hands together in delight by the time he came to the sink. She still didn't like his dark glasses - _he isn't here, he isn't here; where does he go to disappear? _- but she was pleased to have him around.

"Will you have some pancakes, too?" Jenny asked while Brenda got out the mix and the bowls and a bag of frozen blueberries.

"Maybe," Galen answered. The very thought of food - most any type of food, at any given time - made him feel nauseous.

"They're blueberry," Jenny told him. _Like your eyes. Like a blueberry sky, super highway explosion._

"Sounds nice."

"Jenny, let's start cooking," Brenda said coaxingly, guiding Jenny through the steps of the process. She let her get as involved was possible and stuck Galen with stirring the pancake mix and then adding the blueberries. Jenny cried out in joy at the spill of the berries into the gooey batter. She liked the taste of the berries - liked the purple that stained her fingers when she munched on them - liked the streaks that they left in the batter when Galen patiently stirred them in.

It was only when she remembered Galen couldn't see the pretty purple stains that she felt sad. For Galen. He couldn't enjoy the things she enjoyed - like all of the pretty crayons that she liked to draw with until they broke in half.

Brenda took over with the cooking, because both Jenny and Galen would burn their fingers. It was strange, as if neither could comprehend the heat. They had thought that Galen would understand, like any person with average intelligence, but he would not see the heat source or seem to understand that he was being burned.

Jenny was the same, but she simply didn't understand that the heat caused the pain. She would cry and then burn herself again for wanting to eat cookies right as they came out of the oven.

Jenny was fortunately too busy getting the syrup out of the refrigerator to start demanding the pancakes Brenda was cooking up.

"Brenda?" Galen asked while she scooped steaming pancakes onto a plate.

"Yes Galen?"

"I want to make sure it's okay to go to the library again tonight," Galen said. He always waited for a good time to ask, preceding the question with good behavior.

"Again?" Brenda asked, sounding weary. "You've gone every night."

"I'm in love with their audio tapes," Galen answered, making Jenny giggle at the mention of love. "The environment is very relaxing."

"I understand that," Brenda said. "But you have other things to do all day."

"I do?"

"Yes. You're seeing Dr. Sutton for a physical this evening, and you're going to be meeting with your new best friend at lunch today."

"My new best friend?"

"Trust me, you'll be having too much fun to even think about the library," Brenda told him.

"Where are the pancakes?" Jenny asked, knowing they should be done.

"They're cooling off, honey."

"_I want my pancakes! I'm hungry_!" Jenny whined.

"Shhh," Galen shushed her. "You'll have them in a tad, pet. You want syrup on them?"

"I've got syrup right here," Jenny answered, shyly now because Galen was paying attention to her and that made her happy. "And I want butter."

"Lady gets what she wants," Galen said, going to the refrigerator and touching the top shelf. He knew the shape of the butter container, but grabbed the cream cheese instead. "Is this the butter?"

"No, silly!" Jenny exclaimed, bursting into laughter.

Galen laughed a bit beside himself and switched the cream cheese for the jam. "This it?"

"NO, dumb-dumb!"

"Jenny, don't call people names," Brenda said lightly, and Jenny only stopped laughing a little.

"This is the butter," she said, taking out the butter and putting it in Galen's hand.

"So it is," he agreed, setting anything else back and shutting the door.

"You want some pancakes?"

"I think I've worked up a bit of an appetite. And they do smell nice."

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here!" 

Xander blinked, looking up at Fred and Cordelia.

They grinned and crossed the restaurant, joining him at the table.

"Hey Xan," Cordelia said. "How is life?"

"It's great," Xander said, wiping sauce off of his mouth quickly. "You've changed a lot."

"So have you," Cordelia nodded at Xander's neat clothes. "Solid colors are nice on you. Much better than those horrible Hawaiian patterns you used to wear. But I think a warmer shade would better suit your warm skin tone."

Xander looked down at himself and laughed as she finished her fashion advice. "It's good to see I still know absolutely nothing about how to dress myself."

"It's alright, I guess," Cordelia shrugged. "You clean up nice. I had to coax Fred into a little lipstick."

"I-I'm not really into all that stuff," Fred explained, still feeling weird although the lipstick did little but make her lips a shade pink.

"You look nice," Xander offered. She looked a little mousy, but he only knew her as a timid genius.

"She used conditioner, finally," Cordelia said.

"And its ice to see you're still a hint of that familiar bitchiness," Xander added to his ex.

Cordelia smiled. "I'm still a whole lot of bitchy, I just direct it better."

"Are those tacos good?" Fred asked, practically drooling at Xander's lunch.

"For the Powers' sake, go get some," Cordelia told her. "I'm not hungry, so you can eat my lunch too, alright?"

Fred merely grinned shyly and went scurrying to the counter.

"Gosh," Cordelia slid her chair closer to the table. "As much as she eats, you'd think she'd gain a pound."

"Trying to loose some, myself," Xander admitted.

"What are you working on these days?"

"New mall expansion," Xander answered. "It takes up a lot of my time, but I can get basically whatever shifts I need. I've learned a lot about scaffolding."

"So you're on your lunch break right now?"

"Actually, I'm meeting Buffy here for lunch," Xander corrected. "She just started at GSH and I can't wait for her to chew my ear off."

* * *

Buffy noticed Fred first, carrying an overflowing tray. She followed the clueless girl back to a table where Xander and Cordelia were talking. 

"Hi guys," Buffy greeted, amused when Fred jumped.

"Oh, gosh... You scared me half to death! Don't do that," Fred set her tray on the table and sat down.

"Hello, Buffy," Cordelia greeted coolly. "Fred wanted tacos for lunch - surprise, surprise - and we ran into Xander here."

"He's doing very well," Fred praised, and Xander looked proud and humble at the same time. "I think you're wrong that he was ever weird."

"Oh, he was definitely weird," Buffy assured with a laugh. She plopped down beside him, throwing an arm around her friend and planting a kiss on his cheek. "He's matured very well, though. I still think he's hiding a whole army of Star Trek collectibles at his house, though."

Xander chuckled. "What the ladies don't know won't make them back away slowly."

"I look nice in a blue collar, too, see?" Buffy asked.

"Actually I think you count as a white collar," Xander said.

"I'm not white," Buffy pulled at her literal shirt collar. "Maybe bleach blue at best, but this is not white."

"Never mind, Buff," Xander made a face, "All this talk about literal and metaphorical collars only makes me think of dogs."

* * *

"I want you to meet Vancouver." 

Galen stood expectantly in the living room, with Brenda and the disabilities worker that had come by. He felt the brush of fur against his legs and reached down, fingers touching a soft pelt. The animal shifted and Galen pulled his hand away, reaching out again when there seemed to be no threat. He crouched down and stroked the fur, feeling muscles underneath. The animal moved into his touch, licking at Galen's face. He instinctively turned away, but still had an armful of happy dog and a tongue cleaning out his ear.

"He's safe," the dog's trainer said, chuckling a little. "He was trained around children a lot, so he's used to it."

Galen didn't reply, rubbing the dog more briskly while the animal licked under his chin.

"There are a few things you need to know about having a seeing-eye dog," the trainer said, more serious. "The first is that he is not a pet. It'll be hard to keep from babying him, but think of him like a police officer. He's on duty, and you need him to be looking out for you. If you baby him too much, he won't want to listen to your commands, he'll get lazy and more easily distracted and that can be dangerous for you."

Galen nodded seriously, patting Vancouver's neck while the dog panted. He could feel the harness on the dog, knew from some recesses of memory what a guide harness looked like.

"On the other hand," the trainer continued. "You need to bond with him. Keep a balance of love and strong discipline and he's yours. It's very important for a dog and an owner to have a strong bond, especially when they're helping someone with a disability. If for whatever reason, you feel that Vancouver isn't suited to your needs, you need to let us know right away. He's an old dog, and he's had a couple loyal owners, so it can be confusing for him. We don't want to keep passing him around from person to person. It's a sort of till-death-do-us-part."

"I can handle long-term," Galen agreed. "We'll have to see if he's the kind of guy for me."

"You got it. Along with the leash and handle bar, we've included a month's supply of dog food. Don't feed him excessively."

The trainer went through other things that Galen had to know while Vancouver sat diligently at his feet. After that, there were basic commands to get Vancouver to do whatever it was that Galen needed him to do and they went over how to walk the dog correctly.

"Can I pet him?" Jenny asked, seeing the dog when Galen was seated, holding the leash.

"Sure, love," Galen answered. "Just be nice to 'im."

Jenny hesitantly pet the dog, then saw he was friendly and showed more rough love, the way a child would.

"He's such a pretty doggy! What's his name?"

"'Couver," Galen answered.

* * *

"How's the job, Buff?" Xander asked. 

"Oh, the job?" Buffy asked, as though she'd forgotten. "It's pretty cool."

"Pretty cool," Cordelia repeated in disbelief. "We suffered through unending days of Buffy's New Job hype and it's just _pretty cool_? You disgust me."

Buffy scoffed at her laughingly. "Check out the name tag," she held out the engraved little pin for Xander to see. "It's Officer Buffy to you now."

Xander hissed in a breath and loosened his shirt collar. "Gosh, Buffy. You still need someone to practice arresting? Because I would not mind spending an hour detained by your handcuffs."

"_Wow!" _Cordelia choked out. "This conversation just got more interesting."

"Cool yourselves down, both of you," Buffy said to them, blushing a little. "The only one here who even has a love life is Fred."

"What?" Fred squeaked.

"Hey," Cordelia protested. "Angel and I have sex sometimes."

"Shut up, Cordy. I want to hear about Fred's new flame," Buffy burrowed closer, giving Fred a whole heaping load of focused attention. "Who's this new guy I've been hearing so much about?"

"New guy?" Fred asked nervously.

"The schoolboy to your head mistress," Cordelia prompted her.

"Now _that's_ kinky," Xander said, impressed.

"It is not kinky," Fred hissed, embarrassed. "I'm teaching him how to read, n-not doing naughty perverted things like you bad, bad, perverted people."

"Is he at least cute?" Buffy asked. "Cute enough for there to be a teeny tiny chance that you could like him?"

Fred blushed. "I like his smile. When he learns something new, he'll get this nice smile. It's like a ray of sunlight. But he tries to hide it, and I think that's cute... she's very shy."

"Is he smoking hot?" Cordelia pried. "With a cute butt?"

"Cordy, you're dating Angel," Buffy reminded. "I'm supposed to be asking these questions."

"**Well ask them better**!"

"He's handsome," Fred skirted around the question. "He could have a lot of girls, I think, but he almost seems to lack self confidence."

"Mmm," Buffy sighed happily. "A hot guy who lacks self confidence."

"You sound like me," Cordelia snickered proudly.

"Why hasn't he got you, then, Freddie?" Xander asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Fred said. "Maybe neither one of us is brave enough to make a first move. But I'd be too awkward in the 'dating scene.'"

"At least she admits it," Cordelia pointed out. "Besides, the Gunn-Wesley tug of war at home in unbearable enough. They'll be grunting happily to know that this Galileo guy doesn't stand a chance."

"Again, his name is Galen. And what do you mean, Gunn and Wesley?"

"Ummm, duh!" Cordelia felt like knocking on Fred's head. "Is there a mathematical way for me to spell out that they're both completely in love with you? The only reason they haven't ripped each other apart is because Wesley is quiet represso boy."

"I wish I had guys fighting over me," Buffy sniffed. "But if you're not going to get this shy hottie, he's mine."

Xander made a sizzling noise. "Ouch, Cave Buffy has clubbed another one over the head. Dragging him back to your cave?"

"You bet," Buffy grinned. "Cave Buffy needs a nice, handsome man in her life. He is nice, right?"

"The sweetest," Fred sighed a little, thinking of the Gunn/Wesley dilemma. "Of course as a disclaimer, you realize there are a lot of things wrong with him."

"He's defective merchandise," Cordelia chimed in.

"I know about the blindness," Buffy said. "Anything else?"

"Head bump," Fred said. "He gets confused or cranky sometimes, and his long term memory is liquefied. He wasn't ever specific about what caused it, if he even knows. Aside from that mess, he's good."

"Unless there's a wife or girlfriend that's wondering where her husband is," Xander pointed out. "I've seen guys with concussions on the job site before. One wrong blow to the head and you could have a case of walking amnesia on your hands."

"He's at least worth meeting, right?" Buffy said, feeling almost guilty now. "Introduce me to him, Fred. Please?"

"Well, um, we're supposed to be meeting each other tonight," Fred said. "If you don't mind participating in a bit of letters learning. Uh, we have several letters covered and I made some words out of them."

"Sounds like a blast, but I have duty," Buffy said. "My shifts are going to royally suck until I can develop my own thing and get them to trust me."

"That's okay," Fred said. "I promised the guys I'd get him over to the Hyperion at some point. They want to make threats and such. I'm sure Angel's already working out some sort of, "If you touch her, I'll break every bone in your hand," kind of speech."

"Let me know when that night will be," Buffy told Fred, checking her watch and getting up. "I've got to be back at my post soon. I'll see you guys around later, okay?"

"Thanks for the warning," Cordelia said after their goodbyes.

"So, um... Charles and Wes are both in love with me?"

* * *

"I'm not satisfied with the way this is working." 

"No, sir, neither am I."

"I'm not running a goddamn charity here."

"I understand, sir," she said, cool and smooth as always. That's what made her the queen bitch. "We can regain control. Programming has a tendency to be subliminal. We're focusing on stabilizing the drugs first."

"We're spending too much money on that. I've considered pulling the plug."

"This will be a _breakthrough,_ sir. It may cost us a small fortune, but think of how much we can charge our clients," she smirked.

"I like your way of thinking, Ms. Morgan, but you'd better have data to prove it."

"Oh, it's working all right," Ms. Morgan assured him. "We may have to reduce the dosage, however. Our test subjects may be expendable losses, but our clients won't be thrilled by a drug that does more harm than good."

"If we lower the dosage, we could draw out more money."

"Yes, sir, that is exactly my line of thinking. We merely need to balance out the negative side effects and our product will be a hit."

"There needs to be a lot more testing to see if this will be safe for our paying clients. I _don't _like you playing with the company's experiments."

"Sir, I understand your concerns, but the test subject is to be the first to demonstrate the uses of this drug. Not for million dollar clients, but for creating super soldiers. You see, even if the drug is not safe, _this_ can be our angle. Who _doesn't_ want armies at their disposal? All we'll ask of them is that they keep it out of Los Angeles. And in the meantime, we can test this by bringing down our biggest target - Angel Investigations."

* * *

"You going to meet Prince Charming?" Gunn asked, jogging to catch Fred. 

"Yes," Fred answered warily. "And he isn't my type of prince, and I'm not a princess in need of said prince."

"Of course you aren't," Wesley agreed, flanking Fred on the left and sort of glaring at Gunn. "Allow me to escort you?"

"That's kind of my thing," Gunn interrupted. "Right, Fred?"

"I thought I'd give you a break," Wesley said. "I'll gladly take Fred tonight, and make sure she gets there just fine."

"I've done well so far, thanks," Gunn replied. "Fred and I have grown fond of our evening walks. Ain't that right?"

Fred tried not to lose her temper, shaking her head and throwing her hands into the air. "HEY! I have an idea! Let's all three go to the library together. That way you can both dictate my life and intimidate my friend at te same time. That's about four birds with one giant brick."

Both Gunn and Wes wanted to protest and pull away, but she locked their arms together, Wesley on one side, Gunn on the other. Neither one wanted to pull away and let Fred go off with the other, so they glowered at each other and went off as a threesome.

Angel and Cordelia stared until they all left.

"Fred sounded kind of..."

"Pissed?" Cordelia laughed. "Yeah. Well, they deserved it."

"Why were they both so adamant about going?" Angel frowned.

"Earth to Angel," Cordelia snorted softly, pushing lightly on his chest. "They're both fighting over the same female. The only reason it's not like a nuclear war is because Wesley is the type to stew silently and stab someone in the back rather than make is intentions known. And hey, that's scary. Remind me not to double cross him, ever."

"If he ever hurt you, Angelus would be out to play," Angel said, dropping a kiss on Cordelia's lips.

"Hm. I think I should find that more scary, but now it's just sweet," Cordelia smiled. "I'm completely used to being surrounded by obscenely possessive men."

"That's because you and Fred are important," Angel said.

"Yup. But let's face it, so is Willow and Buff-" Cordelia's eyes fell shut, grimacing as a strong vision swept over her.

Angel steadied her before she fell, ready to help her ride out the vision. She convulsed, groaning and yelling in pain and then went slack. A moment later her eyes opened and she almost fell over, trying to find her feet again.

"What was it?"

"What?"

"Cordelia..." Angel kept her in his arms, even though she initially tried to struggle free. Confusion ran through her, nearly visible and then it passed, leaving a noticeable change.

"...Angel?"

"Yes?"

"What... what happened?"

"You had a vision," Angel said with a frown. "What was it about?"

"I... I don't know," Cordelia admitted, feeling very confused and somewhat nauseous. "It was... I was someone for a moment... someone else. It was bad."

"Can you tell me-"

"I don't know," Cordelia snapped, grimacing and looking apologetic immediately afterward. "I'm sorry... I don't know. That's so strange. Usually I'm on top of these things."

"Do you want me to call the others back?" Angel asked.

"No... no, give me a minute," Cordelia shook him off. "Just give me some space. I can... I'll see if anything comes back to me."

* * *

Galen felt some guilt for not being able to cancel the meeting. 

But he was sure that she'd understand. Fred was sweet on him, she'd understand that Brenda didn't let him call.

"Hello, Galen. It's Dr. Sutton. Nice to see you again," Dr. Sutton shook his hand as she came into the room. She looked him over, noting that Galen hadn't changed drastically or anything since their last visit. She also saw the dog by his feet and smiled. "Aha. I see you have a new seeing-eye dog."

"Yes," Galen looked down, nudging his feet against the dog's side. "This is Vancouver. We're going to see how compatible we are."

"That's wonderful. German Sheperds are very loyal and protective, if properly trained. Why did you name him Vancouver?"

"He came with the name," Galen answered.

"I hope you two will be very happy together," Dr. Sutton smiled, making marks on her clipboard and then setting it aside. "Now if you'll take off your shirt, I can get straight to the poking and prodding."

Galen snorted but removed his shirt and didn't flinch when her somewhat cool fingers started to push at his thin ribs. She felt each of his arms, and pushed at his stomach, occasionally asking if she was causing any pain.

"Any coughing, difficulty breathing, sore throat?" she asked, feeling his throat for swollen lymph glands.

"No," Galen said when her hands moved away.

"Alright. Glasses off. Let's take a look," she shined her flashlight into Galen's eyes, noticing his pupils contract.

"Have you had an improvement in vision, Galen?" she asked.

"I think so," he answered. "I can almost see shapes... especially in here, where the lighting is good. Everything is still hazy, though, next to impossible to see."

"A little vision is better than no vision," Dr. Sutton said. "If you're lucky, you may regain enough vision to be partially sighted. There doesn't appear to be any signs of infection. How are those eye tics?"

"They haven't been particularly frequent," Galen answered.

"Alright, let me know if anything changes. Do you have any concerns about anything at all?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What are you concerned about?"

"Uh, sex drive," Galen said, embarrassed.

"What about it?"

"The apparent lack of one."

"Okay. So what does that mean? Does it mean you lack interest, you can't become erect, you can't archive gratification?"

Galen blushed at the mention of impotence. "Lack of interest," he said quickly. "But then, there's no much to be interested about, and I haven't exactly tried."

"Well, either way this is probably a side effect of one of your medications. Have you been able to be sexually active since you... well, since you had the amnesia."

"As in had time, or had the ability? Because I have had time, but I've certainly never... I never even _thought_ about it until recently. Even now, the thought of sex holds no meaning to me whatsoever. It's like, 'what has the got to do with anything?'"

"So you've had a complete lack of sexuality," Dr. Sutton said, watching Galen nod. "No participation, no real feelings towards it, no physical need? And you're not in pain or anything."

"No. I just find it strange."

"But it concerns you."

"It concerns me that I wouldn't be able to even if I wanted to," Galen said.

"Well, I'll check into it," Dr. Sutton said. "I'm not too concerned, if it's not bothering you, other than finding it a bit worrying. Let's wait and see, since you've just gotten onto new medication as it is. It might be an interaction of chemicals. You can put your shirt back on - I'm going to step out for a moment to go see which medications you're on right now."

Galen nodded wordlessly, picking up his shirt and the doctor left briskly. He pulled his shirt back on, thinking that, as it was, he didn't really care either way about the mess. He just thought it was strange.

* * *

"Dr. Sutton." 

The doctor jumped slightly, not expecting a visitor by her office. Most people needed an appointment to see her, but she knew the woman just by the looks of her.

Lilah Morgan.

"Hello, Ms. Morgan," she replied, keeping a very composed, serious expression. "What brings you by?"

"Our test subject, Mr. John Doe," Lilah replied, smiling widely. Her white teeth looked as intimidating as a barracuda, framed by her engine red lipstick.

"He goes by Galen Bristol," Dr. Sutton corrected, letting slip some emotion.

"Sweetie, I don't care if he insists on being called Peewee Herman," Lilah laughed, a harsh, loveless sound.

"What do you want?"

"Just to remind you that he's a paid property, not a charity case," Lilah said in a low, dark voice.

Dr. Sutton glance around anxiously and then opened her office door. "Let's take this into my office," she suggested, eager to escape the hallway.

Lilah walked into the office, instantly dominating the room. Dr. Sutton carefully locked the door and closed the shades.

"What is the nature of this visit?"

"Straight to the point, huh? I like you. We're ordering a change in medication," Lilah said, brandishing a pill bottle.

"What is this for?" Dr. Sutton asked.

"Hmm, funny. His pharmacist didn't even bother asking all that silly stuff," Lilah said. "Might have something to do with his seven-figure checks, though. To be honest, I don't know. Make something up."

"I take it I don't want to know what's in it," Dr. Sutton felt sick just holding the bottle, knowing where it had come from.

"Hmm, nope," Lilah grinned. It probably contained whatever sort of toxic waste their labs made and couldn't dispose of.

"I give this to him, it'll kill him," Dr. Sutton said gravely.

"Instantly?" Lilah asked, a mixture of curiosity and regret - they couldn't give him the pills if it killed him instantly. He was too precious of a toy for that.

"No, not instantly... the doses are too low. But over time, maybe several months, his organs will be the first to go."

"Don't care. Several months from now, if he is still around, the Senior Partners will have fun watching him go. Slowly, painfully, bleeding from the inside out, right? That's the most amusing way."

"He's good," Dr. Sutton said brokenly. "Can't you leave him alone?"

Lilah laughed again. "Pleading doesn't look good on you, doctor. It's not good on your reputation, either. If you don't give this to him, Dr. Grier will simply fire you and hire someone else who _will_ do what we tell them to. And how can you repay all of your loans if you're out of a job?"

"What do I tell him when this poison is all though his system?" Dr. Sutton demanded. "When he starts puking up chunks his liver?"

"Nothing, sweetie. You'll be treating those sweet little kids, just like you always dreamed of doing. He's an assert to the firm, and we'll be seizing him soon."

* * *

Buffy staked out her post as loyally as she had patrolled the cemeteries of Sunnydale. 

Only, the cemeteries never had kindly old cancer patients in wheelchairs being taken for a ride by their loving kids.

Kind of tugged at some heart strings.

Braham told her she was on her own for today. He gave her mostly inactive wing, where patients came for check ups and other simple things. He said that where she was located would depend on how she got along with staff and visitors, and how capable she was of handling emergency situations.

As opposed to the other parts of the hospital - the ER, the OR, the chemo therapy center, the maternity ward, and the cardiovascular center - Buffy was glad to start with the easy part of the hospital.

She'd already held the door open for the elderly, or for those with their hands full or plain looked like they were having a rough day. She'd smiled and been nice all day long.

The retired slayer felt more like Buffy the Doorman. Her feet were killing her. Should've broken in those new shoes instead of obsessively shining them.

A female doctor came by her, looking distressed and holding a clipboard and a bottle of pills. She stopped at a door to a check-up room, and Buffy moved in for the kill.

"Good evening," Buffy said, trying to be pleasant. She felt pleased when the doctor looked at her and gave a half hearted smile in return. She looked sad - maybe things weren't so good at home, or for her patient. But she'd accomplished some acknowledgment! The more good reviews she could get about 'that new girl' the better her chances were.

The doctor opened the door to the room, standing just inside the room for a moment while she greeted her patient formally again.

While the door was open, Buffy could see her patient - a man sitting on the bed/table thing and petting a dog that sat attentively at his feet. He looked up when the doctor spoke, and Buffy

could

not

move.

Her brain blanked for a moment, taking him in.

_Everythng_ was different; his hair was shaved short and dark brown, sunglasses hid his eyes, and his clothes were actually colors, less black and more blue.

But overall, the unique face, and that rare smile when the doctor spoke to him again...

It was, it looked like--

The door shut, blocking her view, but that two-second glimpse was burned into Buffy's mind vividly.

"Spike?"

_

* * *

_

The girl in uniform gave her a friendly smile, and it stopped Julie Sutton cold. Just that display of human kindness brought back something, the sense of humanity, what Good Samaritan Hospital was about. Helping others.

She paused, returning a weak smile and opened the door to the checkup room.

"I'm back," Dr. Sutton said, greeted by Galen's warm smile. She kept her eyes down and shut the door behind her.

"Dr. Grier has decided to switch you onto something else. If this has any side effects, I want you to... I want you to let me know, whatever they may be."

"Okay," Galen said, uncertain, but ever so trusting.

_He wasn't so trusting before, but they broke him. All of those pills meant to inflict psychological damage until he was too stoned to know which way was up. They broke him._

Dr. Sutton knew it was unprofessional, but she couldn't keep her eyes from shedding tears. It took strict discipline to keep it from showing in her voice, so Galen wouldn't know anything was wrong.

"Will they make me tired?" Galen asked. "Because I don't like feeling tired all day long."

Fatigue was low on the list of concerns. She could only imagine what could happen once the pills were well into his system. Seizures, psychosis, liver and kidney failure, vomiting blood, stroke, muscular breakdown, brain aneurysms...

She acted before thinking, going to the sink and tearing the plastic off of the bottle. She dumped out all of the pills as quietly as possible, putting them into her pocket for now. Desperately she opened the cabinet and found a bottle of vitamins. She cried tears of joy now, dumping in a fistful of vitamins and thinking, _these will do him more good than anything he's been given_.

She closed the bottle with trembling hands. "You shouldn't... have any drowsiness with this prescription," she told him. "I just want to make sure that they filled it correctly, and... to check for broken pills. These are perfect."

She gave him the bottle, finding peace with herself now. He gave her a smile nonetheless, showing just as much trust as he would have given Dr. Grier.

"I'll walk you to the front door," Dr. Sutton said, wiping at her eyes and collecting her resolve. The security girl wasn't outside when they left the room.

Julie Sutton decided she was some sort of angel, whether or not it made any logic.

She returned to check up room, locking herself inside so she could be alone.

She thought of losing her job, but it was unlikely anyone would notice she'd switched the pills unless they specifically checked.

Another prescription would not go through her. Dr. Grier would provide the pills directly - she would not touch them again. It made her sick knowing she couldn't keep switching the pills, but she'd bought Galen a month of bliss.

Dr. Sutton removed her white coat and dumped the pills into the sink, turning on the water and watching the capsules melt and wash away.

There was a lot of evil in the world, but she was not going to be part of it.

* * *

**_Someone save me if you will  
__and take away all these pills_**

**_and please just save me, if you can  
from the blasphemy in my wasteland_**

_Lyrics from "Save Me" by Shinedown_


	9. Eurydice

**A/N: Let's pick up where we left off.  
Keep reading, keep reviewing. If I stray, let me know. If you want more of something, speak up.  
**

* * *

"Where is he?" Gunn asked, sounding a little impatient. 

Fred frowned, confused by the lack of Galen anywhere. He was not at their favorite alcove, not at the audiotapes, not with the Braille, not anywhere.

"It appears that you have been 'stood up' as they said," Wesley stated.

"You," she accused, turning on the two men. "You did this."

"We made Caleb go all flaky?" Gunn gave Fred a look. "Girl, you're tripping if you think we'd want him to not show up."

"You jinxed it," Fred continued angrily. "I let you come to our sacred place and he disappears, like Eurydice."

"Maybe it was never meant to be, Wesley suggested.

"_No_!" Fred shoved them towards the door, her small strength ineffective, but they moved. "He must've not been able to come. I'll be here tomorrow night but _you'll_ stay away! I'll talk him into going to the Hyperion so you can all crowd around and be big mean jerks."

"I'm sorry, Fred, we just care about you," Gunn said, somewhat sourly.

"I'm not twelve," Fred said. "I'm a full-grown woman, and you two need to stop acting like children."

* * *

"Hey, honey." 

Galen cringed a bit when Rachel snuck into his room. A second later the bed creaked with her weight, and he reared his head away when she brushed against him, too close.

"Hey," she said again. "What's up? Got the jitters, honey?"

"You stink like something," Galen said breathlessly.

"It's called perfume, dumbass. Guys don't appreciate a nice scent."

"I may be blind, but the fumes are killing my eyes," Galen moved away from her, wondering if it was possible to have chemical burns on the retina from vapors.

Eamon narrowed his eyes at Rachel, displeased to find her alone with Galen.

"There's the other contestant," Rachel announced. "Now we can get this thing going."

"Don't pay any mind to anything she's said while I wasn't here," Eamon told Galen.

"Why are we doing this again?" Galen asked warily.

"Because Eamon is a fool to think that he can sway you," Rachel said. "You're mine and you're going to love it. Just let me do all of the work."

"That's what she says to all of them," Eamon informed Galen, earning a chuckle while he made himself comfortable on the bed, too.

Rachel gave him a withering look with Eamon laid back carelessly.

"What?" Eamon asked.

"Can we start or are you going to pretend to be funny?"

"We start when Galen wants," Eamon answered. "And the rules should be clear. Groping, fondling, and petting is not allowed. Use of cleavage is not allowed. Kissing anywhere other than the mouth is not allowed... whore. Remember this is a kissing contest, not a strip club."

"Do I look like a stripper to you?" Rachel asked, to which Eamon did not answer. "Anyway, I'm sure Galen wants to get to the part where I make his dreams come true."

"Which dreams are those?" Galen asked. _The ones without you in them?_

"The wildest ones," Rachel answered, her perfume warning Galen of her presence moments before her lips fastened onto him.

Eamon watched, only somewhat amused and disturbed as Rachel all but forced herself onto the other man.

Rachel moaned as she managed to slip her tongue into Galen's mouth, and was immediately kicked in the ass by Eamon.

"You want Brenda to catch us in here? Keep it down," Eamon hissed at her.

Rachel glowered at Eamon and then returned to kissing Galen, hot mouth enveloping his, fingers digging into the back of his head, breasts pressed against his chest-

and Galen did not enjoy that, the grabbing, the invasion. Her warm, slick tongue felt like an eel, and Galen did not appreciate that image.

The best he could do was remain as passive as possible, not touching, not kissing back... not really. It was almost funny, in fact, since he was so not into this but she was making little moaning noises, almost trying to rape his mouth with her needy tongue. She finally broke away, panting for breath and Galen's nostrils flared as he picked up a strong, musky scent - _holy shit!_

"Your turn's up," Eamon announced, pulling Rachel away.

She wobbled a bit, drunk with feminine arousal and then settled down with a decidedly wicked smirk. She could not lose - surely she had kissed Galen so passionately that he felt the same flaming attraction to her now. Eamon was about to kiss Galen - _and that was hot._ The mere thought only made her wetter. She couldn't lose.

"Hope she didn't turn you off for life," Eamon said to Galen.

"Shut up and get to the kissing," Rachel demanded. "The sooner Galen picks me, the better."

Eamon sighed, amused by her impatience and cupped Galen's cheek, a better warning before he pressed his warm lips against Galen's cooler ones. He waited, half expecting something in Galen to snap and make him punch Eamon in the head, but Galen remained as passive as he'd been when it was Rachel's turn. Eamon took the initiative, pressing several small kisses against the other man's lips, drawing small breaths between each one.

Slowly, Galen became more pliant, although a tension lingered. Gradually the small kisses became open mouthed, but Eamon didn't plunge in, like Rachel had. He let Galen adjust to the shallow dips of his tongue. There was a continuous lean, as Eamon slowly edged closer and closer to Galen, then placed is hand on the back of Galen's head while simultaneously pushing in his tongue with a slow, wet stroke.

Galen could not lean back any further and broke the kiss when he fell back onto his pillow. Eamon smiled a little, then crawled over him and continued to kiss him.

"Mmm... yeah," Rachel purred, moving to get a better view. "Take his shirt off."

They both stopped kissing to give her a look.

"What? What's the point of this if you're not going to fuck him?"

"Knowing that I'm better then you is good enough for me," Eamon replied, easing off of Galen before the other man became uncomfortable.

"You forfeit?" Rachel asked.

"No, definitely not," Eamon said, sitting beside Galen. "I just took my turn. You wanna try again?"

Rachel gave him a sour look. "Who won, Galen? You like kissing me more, or him?"

"Uhh..." he cleared his throat. "I don't..." he tried to formulate something to say, but a strange, distant noise distracted him.

"You don't have to say it," Eamon told Galen.

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "Just tell Eamon to go back to his room so we can be alone."

"_Excuse_ me? Clearly if either of us were going to bed him, it would have been me."

"Does anyone else hear that?"

"What?" Rachel glanced over the side of the bed. "Galen, your shithead dog is staring at me."

Eamon snickered. "He smells a bitch in heat."

"You don't like my dog, you lose," Galen informed Rachel. "Eamon wins by default."

"That's bull," Rachel protested while Eamon laughed. "It's not my fault your dog is retarded."

"Get the fuck out of my room if you don't like my dog," Galen snapped, pointing towards the door.

"No way. If Eamon won, I at least want to watch you make out. I won't mention your dog anymore."

"I think I'm leaving things as they are," Eamon decided. "Because if I used my full technique on Galen, we'd undoubtedly cause quite a lot of noise. The entire block would know that some lucky guy was having the best sex of his life."

Galen blushed, wishing somehow he could get away and leave them both to argue over- _what **is** that?_

"Are you guys seriously hard of hearing?"

"Well... sorry, but we can't all have 50 percent improved senses, like you," Rachel said.

"Right. Just listen for a second, will you?"

"You need to take some of my schizo pills," Rachel told him. "Because I'm used to _my_ voices."

Galen ignored her and got off of his bed - almost crawling over Eamon in the process.

"What's up?"

Galen opened the door quietly, and the sound could be heard clearer, finally reaching the ears of the other two. Almost a thumping, but not quite right. A shaking?

"Move," Eamon said, pushing Galen aside gently but firmly.

Galen followed the source of the noise, and Eamon's footsteps, and they paused outside of Jenny's door. The quiet sound died away, but Eamon opened the door and entered anyway.

"Jen? Jenny?"

Rachel brushed past Galen, entering the room. "Oh, _fuck_."

"Get Brenda," Eamon ordered her, no patience for her being useless.

Galen was jostled when Rachel bolted out of the room, but he was left clueless, holding onto the wall for an idea of where he was. "What's going on?"

No reply came. A short while later Brenda and Rachel came back. Galen moved away from the door and listened, trying to make sense of anything while Rachel woke up Addison and Brenda called 911.

There was a slow sinking feeling in the confusion. Paramedics arrived and Brenda told Rachel and Addison to take Galen outside. There was nothing they could do to help, only get in the way of things.

"What happened?" Galen asked when they were standing in the cool night under the street lamp outside.

"I don't know," Rachel answered, somewhat shaken by the abruptness of it.

Addison stared at the flashing lights of the ambulance, disoriented from being woken in the middle of the night.

A few minutes later the paramedics came out of the building and Eamon joined the cluster, having been told to leave.

"You guys alright?" Eamon asked quietly, watching medical personnel go by.

"We're good," Rachel answered. "But that was... bad in there."

"What happened?" Galen asked Eamon. "Is Jenny alright now?"

"Galen... Jenny's dead," Eamon told him quietly.

"But..."

"She had a seizure," Eamon said, keeping his words tight. "She died."

"_Fuck_," Rachel cursed softly.

"We could've..."

"_No_," Eamon growled. "We could have nothing. She was an epileptic. She would've gone into a seizure sooner or later. I'm sorry, but she's dead. That's all there is to it."

Galen sighed out and sat down right there on the ground, putting is head into his hands and trying hard not to think about it.

* * *

_She could not fight the tears from showing in her eyes, just like she felt she couldn't fight what was coming. He was all she could see now, all aglow with love, and yet resigned. He was her perfect, willing man. But he would not go to her anymore, unless she asked._

_"Hold me?"_

_His eyes shifted, like he was wary... she never trusted him. Never. But to her relief they changed to show some hope, lessening the weight of his sadness._

_She felt terrible for causing that sadness, but she could not take back all those years of using him for sex until she'd burned it into him; **This is all you mean to me, all that you're good for. You're only here for sex and nothing more. You can never be anything more.**_

_The worst part was, she wasn't sure that she didn't still feel that way. But he came to her, and she made room for him, keeping the mood calm so he wouldn't think that she was using him. Not this time._

_He settled back, and she eased into his arms. This was... good. When they'd settled in, just gazing at each other, it was the most she would ever have. The most she would ever give him. All of those days when she could have slowed down and showed some appreciation, but didn't._

_Too late for that. We all die tomorrow. Why can't I just tell him? But maybe he already knows._

_**I love him.**_

_But I can't remember ever saying it to him._

Buffy woke with tears on her face, sitting upright.

For three minutes she had no idea what was going on, but had a sense of impending doom.

Her confusion slowly cleared as she remembered where she was, what day is was. The First was defeated - it still existed, but it couldn't reach out and grab them - and Spike was dead and she was in Los Angeles, and-

**Spike was not dead.**

Tears sprang into her eyes at the thought that maybe... maybe she'd only dreamed it all.

Buffy turned on her light and got up, leaving her room and entering Willow's bedroom. She was sitting on Willow's bed before she'd really thought it out, waking up both Willow and Kennedy when she sat down.

"Wha..." Willow woke up, blinking at the pale morning light and then staring wide-eyed at Buffy above her. "Buffy? What's wrong?"

"Spike is alive."

"No, slayer. Blondie fried," Kennedy corrected sleepily. "And even if he didn't, the whole town caved in."

Willow looked more sympathetic for the horror that crossed Buffy's face. "I'm sorry, Buffy, but she's right. I thought you said you'd accepted this and you were going to move on. Did you have a bad dream again?"

"Yes, but that's beside the point. I _saw _him, Willow. I saw him at the hospital when I was on duty."

"Where?" Kennedy asked, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Willow.

Buffy, to her credit, managed to ignore the fact that Willow and her lover were both naked under the covers.

"He was in one of the check-up rooms," Buffy said. "You know, where you go for a minor treatment, like a flu shot."

"He was getting a flu shot?"

"No... I don't know what he was doing there, but he was _there_."

"Sure it wasn't a look-alike Spike?" Kennedy yawned. "You know, blonde and sexy."

"He was brunette," Buffy said. "His natural hair color. But I could tell it was him. He has a pretty distinct face.

"Anything else?"

"I... I don't remember. I guess I was kind of shocked. He was wearing normal clothes, though. Blue jeans... and a short-sleeved shirt."

"What did he say?" Willow asked expectantly.

"Uh... he didn't say anything," Buffy admitted. "Because I only saw him for a second or two. But he smiled... I was _close_ Willow. I was right by the doorway."

"So what after that?" Kennedy asked. "You wait for him?"

"Well... no," Buffy admitted. "I couldn't bang on the door or anything or I might get fired. I tried to find the nurse who had that wing and she wasn't around. Somehow I missed him leaving, and the doctor wouldn't give me a name."

"That's crappy," Kennedy sympathized.

"Yeah, it _is._"

"Buffy..." Willow crawled up a little, clutching the sheets to her chest. "As much as I want to join in on some squealing dance, I can't let you get worked up over this. Spike is dead, and please don't let yourself believe otherwise until there is more evidence."

"You don't believe me," Buffy stood up, hurt by Willow's rebuke.

"It's not that," Willow pleaded. "I believe you saw a man who greatly resembled Spike. I just don't want you to get hurt. If he's been to Good Samaritan Hospital, we can track this guy down."

"You'll help me?"

"Go write down everything you know," Willow instructed. "The doctor's name, the room number, the exact time you saw him. I'll figure out how to hack into their files and find out who had that appointment."

"You're the best, Wils," Buffy could barely contain a grin.

Willow listened to their bedroom door shut, and Buffy's footsteps move away. She sighed and flopped her head back down onto the bed.

"This may not end well."

"Didn't... Spike try to rape Buffy and stuff?"

"Yes..." Willow admitted. "But in light of things, we've had a theory... it can't be proven. It could never be proven, but I think Buffy believes it now."

"Believes what?" Kennedy asked, stroking small circles on her girlfriend's bare back.

"That the First targeted Spike before the soul," Willow answered. "That the rape would've been the first part of the plan, to break them apart. It wanted Spike on the side of evil. I think we're all just beginning to realize how hard he fought against it. And he won."

* * *

"What is that?" Dawn asked, watching Buffy study a sheet of note paper. 

"Uh... nothing."

"Bullshit," Dawn spat out, fixing a bowl of cereal. She was so _tired_ of her sister needing to hide things from her. "Just tell me."

"I shouldn't," Buffy said, feeling guilty.

"I'll find out anyway," Dawn said. "And if I do find out later, and it's something you know I'd want to know _right now,_ I'm going to make your life a living hell."

Buffy sighed and turned in her chair to look at Dawn. "When I was on the late shift last night, there was a guy that I saw in a check-up room. It was only for a few seconds, but I _know_... He looked just like Spike. Not exactly like Spike, but just like him."

"You saw Spike at the hospital?" Dawn asked.

"A guy who looked like Spike," Buffy said. "Willow doesn't want me to jump to conclusions. I'm writing down everything I remember so Willow can tell who he was."

"Then what?"

"Then I track him down... and I see if he's what I thought he was," Buffy said.

"And if he's just some guy who looked like Spike?"

"Then I apologize and leave him alone."

"What if it is Spike?"

"Then... I don't know. That's going to depend on a lot of stuff," Buffy said. "I can't answer that, Dawn."

"Would you take him back? You'd let him just come back after everything that happened?"

* * *

"In the wake of this tragic event, we're offering counseling to anyone who needs it," Mary said to the four remaining residents. "We understand that Jenny was a cherished member of our little family, so if you need to talk to anyone, don't be afraid to approach Brenda or myself. Your thoughts will remain completely confidential." 

Galen stroked Vancouver's head, occupying himself with the absent chore. Eamon and Addison sat between him and Rachel, who had grown to resent the dog even more.

"Everyone is upset," Mary continued. "Jenny was like a beacon of hope for us all. We've decided to take today off to remember her. Can anyone think of a way we can do this?"

"When are they burying her?" Galen asked, his throat tight.

Mary paused for a moment before answering softly, "Her family will be cremating her and spreading the ashes in Sacramento, where she grew up."

"She liked the garden," Rachel said. "Like, ridiculously. She even loved the weeds. Said they were still... plants, even if they weren't as beautiful."

"Let's spend the day in the garden, then," Mary suggested.

* * *

Buffy did not see Spike again during her shift, or any man who remotely resembled him. Every hour was tedious, trying to focus on her job. 

She found the room number where he'd been. The door was left open, and her imagination played an almost ghostly recollection of him. In her mind's eye, however, he was the way she remembered him, with crisp blue eyes and rumpled blonde locks that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. He still wore those normal clothes, because... she liked them. But within a blink, he was gone, back to being a ghost that vaguely haunted her dreams.

It hurt Buffy to realize that she'd seemed to have forgotten his voice. Any words he spoke in her dreams might as well not have been spoken at all. They were so vague, like her never said a word, she just knew all of the lines.

Over and over again.

Sometimes they left the Hellmouth together. Sometimes she could make him believe her.

She hoped Willow could disprove this.

* * *

Galen wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat had mixed with the dust and soil on his skin, leaving dark trails of moisture. 

"You're burning."

"What?"

Rachel pulled out a clump of grass-like weeds, but purposefully left the dandelions alone.

"Your skin is redder than Maine lobster," Rachel clarified, brushing the back of Galen's neck with her gloved hand. He was burning the worst there, with his back facing the sun. "That's going to be sore later."

"Funny... I had a dream sort of along those lines. The light was setting me on fire, though."

"You're weird, Galen," Rachel informed him.

_My hand was burning, _Galen continued morosely in his mind. _And the flames were spreading inside, like white-white heat, melting. And that girl..._ But his head hurt to try remembering anything more. It was amazing enough that he'd had a dream.

Rachel picked up the remains of the plants she'd uprooted, along with some that Galen had pulled out, and took them off to the wastebasket.

Eamon took the chance to move in and take over her location.

"You alright?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Galen answered.

"Uh, because you've been stuck with Rachel?" Eamon guessed, watching her survey the switch of locations and then start working next to Addison without complaint. "Looks like we're safe."

"I don't like you, Eamon," Galen blurted out, almost hissing his frustration to the ground below him so Mary would not notice.

Eamon paused and then reached for a tiny bit of weed nearer to Galen. "You hate me?"

"I don't hate you," Galen sounded distressed. "But I don't want to have sex with you - or Rachel . I don't want to have sex with anybody, because it is utterly disgusting to me and I don't get any of it at all."

"Galen, I was never going to pursuit anything like that," Eamon informed him. "I just wanted to save you from Rachel. I never believed in male rape until I met her."

"Rachel thinks I'm just as stupid as Jenny was. Jenny was never _stupid. _She didn't understand and neither do I."

Eamon looked at Galen, sitting in the dirt and looking just incredibly crushed. He glanced at Vancouver - who was lying panting in the shade and called the dog over, pushing the leash into Galen's hands.

"Go see Mary. Tell her you're getting tired and burned up bad, and you need sunblock and some water."

Galen left with Couver and was taken inside, not to return.

Just as well, because Eamon figured the fair-skinned man could not stand the heat. Mary returned to offer sunblock and water to everyone, which Eamon drank gratefully while noticing how Addison 'helped' Rachel with her sunblock.

* * *

"This is all of the information I could come up with," Buffy said, handing Willow the piece of paper. 

"Ah, alright. This should bring our guy up in no time. Just as... soon as I can figure out how to hack into their network."

"You haven't gotten that far?" Buffy questioned.

"Well, no. I'll probably have to go sit right near the building to get into their wireless system, and then I still have to crack their little codes and find the right password so I can see the right files," Willow said. "But I'm working on it. Give me a couple days."

* * *

Fred could barely believe her eyes when Galen showed up, led by a sharp-looking German Sheperd. 

"Where've you been?" Fred asked, touching his arm to show her location.

"Sorry. Been busy." Galen turned his head to look at her. Fred sometimes forgot he couldn't see. She knew that without his glasses, his eyes would be unfocused, but it was easy to think he was staring straight at her.

"I can see that. Who is this?" Fred asked, already reaching to pet Vancouver's head.

"This is Couv," Galen made a worried face, "Don't baby him... the trainer said to treat him like a policeman on duty."

"Aww, he's a handsome dog," Fred said. "Is he friendly?"

"The trainer said he was used to kids, and his tongue in my ear told me, yes. Couv's tongue, not..." Galen blushed while Fred giggled.

"Well, now I can understand it. Couv stole my attention, didn't he? I thought you were blowing me off."

"Actually, Couver would have only kept me away for a day," Galen said. "One of the residents died at the group home."

"Ohh... I'm so sorry," Fred enveloped him with warm, soft arms. "Death isn't an easy thing. Never."

"I'll be okay," Galen said, mostly to escape her arms. They made him feel weak and strange. It was unsettling, like the same emotions Eamon had managed to awaken.

"You sure?" Fred asked, her tone still dripping with so much sincere concern, it was painful.

"I'm already feeling better, thanks."

"I'm just glad you're here again," Fred told him. "I was beginning to worry."

Galen made Vancouver sit down at his feet. "I never meant to go away. Things happened."

"I know that. It was completely out of your control," Fred assured him. "My friends have been talking about you a lot," Fred laughed nervously. "They think that we're dating or something. Anyway, since we kind of _are _seeing each other - in a totally platonic way - they want to meet you."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Galen shifted uncomfortably.

"You don't have to stay for long," Fred promised. "The hotel is only a block away. Instead of spending a few hours in here, we could walk over there and show them all that you're a nice, normal guy who does not only want to seduce me."

"Your friends think I'm seducing you?"

"It's a long story, but my friends are all protective," Fred explained helplessly. "But they're great, loyal friends. I dont want them to be suspicious of you, so we kind of need to make an appearance. If not, Angel, Wes, and Gunn might show up here dressed for war, stalking us."

"You don't... like me, do you Fred?"

"What? No!" Fred laughed nervously again. "You're great, but I've already got two people after me, and if they found out about another person, it'd just be bad."

"Okay," Galen rubbed his neck, wincing at the sunburn he'd gotten yesterday. "Same for me, exactly. Rachel and Eamon fighting over me like I'm a prize."

Fred smiled sadly. "I know that. They treat you like property, just because you aren't as strong or as brave. I don't like to fight, I like stay unseen."

"I know it," Galen nodded, dropping his head.

"So... will you come over?" Fred asked. "Just to get them off my back?"

"When?"

"Tomorrow night," Fred answered. "So I can warn them all beforehand. And they may bully you a bit; just be good and ignore them."

"I'll be there."

* * *

From Wikipedia_: "In Greek mythology, **Eurydice"** ... "was a woman or nymph, and was the wife of **Orpheus**. While fleeing from Aristaeus, she was bitten by a serpent and died." ... "Orpheus traveled to the underworld and by his music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone, and even made the Furies weep." ... "It was then granted that Eurydice be allowed to return with him to the world of the living. But the condition was attached that he should walk in front of her and not look back until he had reached the upper world. In his anxiety, he broke his promise, and Eurydice vanished again from his sight."_


	10. Probably a Sex Bot

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I had Arret beta this chapter for me, because I wasn't sure if I'd screwed it up or not. I finished it at 3-5am, in contrast to the days I spent staring stupidly at the screen wondering how the hell... enough rambling.**

**Ready? Set... Read.**

* * *

"He's on the new drug," Lilah said, sitting down elegantly, with her legs folded, hands stroking the back of the leather couch. 

"How long?"

"He'll be clawing off his own skin, within a week," she said, amused by the thought. "If not, someone else's."

"Damnit, Morgan! This isn't what our goal is!"

"Neither is charity," Lilah said, dropping the amusement. "He'll be so unstable that when we take him back, the medical staff will be grateful. We should never have let him into the system."

"And kept him where, in the dungeon?" her boss asked scathingly.

Lilah didn't reply. She'd rather keep him there, but any answer she gave would lead to a discussion about the goal of their drug experiments and how they needed stable test subjects to ensure that there were no adverse effects for their precious paying clients. They'd already received five million dollars from clients who wanted the pills first.

"Clients don't want the pills for themselves," Lilah said reasonably. "They want it for their recruits. Therefore, we test it by making a few of our own. We already know it works; it just needs a little tweaking. Why not continue with my plan, _and_ we can rig it all up so our clients will get a lovely presentation. We can show them how far a little creativity goes."

* * *

"What's wrong?" 

"What…?" Angel looked at Cordelia. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't give me that. You look like you're lost in deep thought," Cordelia said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"I guess I was just… thinking about Fred," Angel answered.

"Why are you worried? She got her little boyfriend to come here, didn't she?"

"She might have gotten in over her head," Angel said. "And that vision you had, we still don't know what it meant."

"But by now it's probably already passed," Cordelia added. "You shouldn't worry about it. There was no chance of figuring that out."

"I guess not."

But nothing really changed between them; the conversation was proving futile. He was still far away, unreachable.

Cordelia let out a breath quietly, feeling her silly hopes dissolving, leaving an acid feeling in her chest. "Angel? You've been really distant ever since Buffy came to LA."

He felt a guilty vice tighten around his heart – his stupid, unbeating heart that made it impossible to be with any human.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's not just that," Cordelia stood up, now, on an angry rant to drown out her pain. "We don't do anything together. You barely _talk_ to me. You don't treat me like… like a girlfriend should be treated! Buffy knows we're together, and she doesn't care. She's over you. She's dated other men," she stopped and shook her head, nothing but bitterness left. "But I wonder if you're still in love with her?"

"I'm always going to love her."

Cordelia made a noise of disgust and moved to leave, but Angel pulled one of those super-fast moves, cutting her off at the doorway.

"But I love you, too, Cordelia."

"That hardly matters, Angel," Cordelia told him. "She still has a part of you. I want all of you. I'm jealous and selfish, I know, but I can't bear knowing that you still think of her."

"I don't think of her," Angel pushed on the door to keep it shut, to keep Cordelia from escaping. "You're right, though. I did change when she came here. I'm sorry, but it's hard to have her around, not to mention-"

"TELL HER TO LEAVE!" Cordelia screamed at him. "If that whore is keeping you from moving on, you need to be away from her!"

"Buffy isn't the problem," Angel growled out. "I'd get over that. I _have_ gotten over it. Buffy and I don't fit together realistically. When I was around her, I was off in a fairy tale land. But with you, it can be a real thing."

"Then why won't you kiss me anymore?" Cordelia asked.

Angel responded by pressing his lips to hers, giving her the kiss that she'd wanted. Cordelia gripped his arms, pulling him closer, but she couldn't break the emotionless feeling to it all. When he pulled away, she felt like she'd been cheated somehow.

"If it's not Buffy, than what is it?" Cordelia demanded.

"It was… the news she brought," Angel admitted, looking haunted. "That Spike was dead."

Cordelia watched him, but could no longer hold any pity for him. She couldn't keep doing this. It'd been months.

"Whether it's Buffy or Spike or little green demons, I don't know," Cordelia shook her head. "But I do know that I don't see the man I fell in love with anywhere. I think we should break up, Angel. It sounds harsh, but this… it isn't a relationship anymore. I'll still be your friend and all that crap, and if you ever decide to snap out of this, let me know. I just can't be with you when you're not even here."

"I'm sorry-" Angel's apology fell on deaf ears when Cordelia wrenched open the door and left, slamming it in her wake.

He groaned and thumped his head against the door, trying to make sense of himself. It wasn't just Spike… maybe he did still have feelings for Buffy, but he was reasonable enough to know it would never work out. He couldn't think of any good reason why he wasn't interested in her, other than that maybe he just _didn't love her._

* * *

"Still nothing?" Buffy asked, accepting a cup of coffee from Dawn. 

Willow sat in front of her laptop, still unable to access the GHS network. "Their database is well-armed, but I just need to figure out how they run things," Willow said, and Dawn offered her a cup of coffee as well. "Oh, thanks honey."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Buffy asked. "What do you need to figure out?"

"The layout of things. Like how the login name is written, for one," Willow answered. "Sometimes there's a name or a number system that can help me crack into the system. Anyway, just give me a few days and I'll be able to tell you all about your mystery man."

Dawn handed the last coffee to Kennedy and sat down next to her on the couch. "Just got off the party line, earlier. Word on the street is that Fred's got a guy coming over to the Hyperion."

"Oh, really?" Buffy blushed a bit, taken off-guard by the news. "I didn't know she'd accomplish that so soon."

"We're all going to go, right?" Kennedy asked.

"Oh, definitely," Dawn agreed, nodding her head. "I haven't been able to threaten anyone in at least a week."

"Uh, hello? You threatened to make my life a living hell only a few days ago," Buffy reminded her.

"Oh. So I did."

"Fred has a man?" Kennedy asked.

"Apparently they've been seeing each other a lot," Buffy filled her in. "For tutoring. She says he's hot but she isn't interested, so, um… I was thinking of bagging him before someone else does."

"You vixen!" Willow accused good-naturedly.

"Well, I'm not even sure," Buffy added. "I mean, this other guy that I saw… I need to wait and clear that up, I guess. And Fred also said that he was damaged a little, like someone shook his head too hard, or uh, slammed it off a wall."

"He's retarded?" Dawn made a puzzled face.

"No. No, I don't think so," Buffy said. "More like he lost his eyesight, and his memory. He's also shy, and that's hard to come across. A sizzling hot, nice guy who lacks confidence, and is single. That's how she described him."

"I don't know if I'd want a guy who lacked confidence," Dawn said.

"Oh, that's just a minor hang-up," Buffy assured her. "It doesn't really matter. I'm totally willing to make the first move. But my mystery man…"

"Can go on hold," Willow finished firmly. "At least for a couple of days. Just don't get too seriously involved with this other guy."

"I'd better go call Giles," Dawn realized, getting up again. "It sounds like everyone is going to be there, and he doesn't like to be excluded. Aren't _we_ eager to scare the piss out of this guy?"

"We get a double-threat now," Kennedy said brightly. "We can tell him to stay away from Fred, and if he hurts Buffy, I hurt his ass with my boot."

"Or we'll beat him to death with a shovel," Willow grinned.

"You guys are brutal," Buffy made wide eyes. "But I can assure you, if he tried anything, he'd have a broken nose in an instant. Broken arm for serious offences."

"Should I call Xander, too?" Dawn questioned, already dialing Giles. "I'll call Xander."

* * *

...

* * *

"Hey guys," Xander greeted upon arrival, still dressed in his work clothes. About a dozen people were scattered round, none of which were unfamiliar to him. Apparently everyone was already at the hotel waiting for their mystery guest. "I just got out of work. Does it matter that I've got some dust on my pants?" 

"No, I don't think so," Buffy answered, checking her watch. "Mm, Fred's supposed to be back soon anyways."

"Super," Xander set his coat down. "I've already worked up a speech about how actions have consequences."

"Ooh, I was working on 'no means no,'" Willow told him. "How about anyone else?"

"I'm just going to wish him luck," Lorne answered with a toast of his drink. _With this group, he'll need it._

"We should not mention that Lorne is anything but human," Angel advised, feeling antsy.

"I'm going to tell him a creepy story about how I once knocked out a guy's teeth for looking at one of my old girlfriends," Kennedy said. "Creepy because it's true. I'd do it again for you, baby."

Willow gave a terrified smile. "…Yay?"

"Damn," Angel cursed. "I was going to go up that alley. I have a lot more experience there than you do."

"So, we'll both do it," Kennedy said. "But yours better not be punching, or about teeth. Tell him that you have the capabilities to have him hunted down and killed if he makes anyone cry. Or torture him. Play up the forces of darkness."

"Really, you're all finding this cruelly funny, aren't you?" Giles asked.

"What was your angle, Giles?" Cordelia questioned knowingly.

"Erm, I was going to very ominously warn him about the rest of you bloodthirsty barbarians."

"Rupert," Wesley whined, hurt. "That was my thing."

"Well you certainly never discussed it with me."

"Setting him on fire is my thing," Dawn warned them all. "Trademark Dawn."

"And beating him to death with a shovel is mine," Willow nodded. "Trademarked as well."

"We going to go around in a sharing circle or something?" Gunn asked critically.

"No, no," Xander shook his head, as if talking to a foolish amateur. "What you do is mingle, very casually. One at a time, you pull him aside for a brief one-on-one convo. The key is to sound a like a dead serious psychopath. Psyche him out."

"And have complete dominance," Kennedy added. "Don't give him a leg up on anything. Barely let him respond and then walk away."

"This guy is never going to go out with me after a dozen people all threaten him with grievous bodily harm," Buffy shook her head in disbelief and closed her eyes, smiling, more amused than upset.

* * *

"What are you doing outside?" Fred asked, wrapping her coat around herself. The street was cold this time of night, a blue haze of night stretched out to both ends of the street, only pushed back by street lamps. Galen was sitting on the library steps, dressed in casual clothes – a soft gray t-shirt that sort of clung to his lithe body and cargo pants that looked just as comfortable. His sneakers were nondescript, with Velcro. 

He rubbed his palms on his pants when she came up to the steps. "I took a minute after Mary dropped me off," Galen explained. "Vancouver comes in handy. The librarian will never let out of those doors once I go inside, but if I never show up, she'll never think I was supposed to be here, anyway."

"How can you be so sure?" Fred asked, more apprehensive about someone finding out.

"I asked the others at the group home. Brenda calls to check in, but Mary never does. She's too busy policing the others."

"I guess it's true what they say," Fred grinned, giddy that they were finally going to get out somewhere. "Out of sight, out of mind."

Galen harrumphed a little. "Lucky for you, I'm, not that way."

"Lucky me. Here, let me help," she said, taking his hand while Galen stood up.

He held the crook of her arm and, with Vancouver on the leash, they crossed the street and headed out.

She guided him through the alley that she took, one she knew to be safe because it was adjacent to the Hyperion. After years of Angel being around, demons tended to avoid the area, or they ended up pulverized.

"It must get boring, living in a sterile environment all the time," Fred said, to break the silence. "We're, uh, anything but sterile. But not _unclean_, either. Just not obsessed with disinfectants."

Galen tugged on Vancouver's harness to signal him to stop. "Is there anything I ought to know before I go in there?"

"Well, there'll be a big crowd," Fred warned him. "Absolutely everyone wants to meet you. It's because I'm _supposed_ to be shy and defenseless, I guess."

Galen let his eyes wander off in his haze, studying the unique contrast where Fred's dark shadow fell against the slick alley wall. His vision was getting better. He couldn't remember feeling so wonderful.

"How big of a crowd?"

"Maybe ten people?" Fred guessed sheepishly. "If that's too much, I could make them thin out and the others will meet you later."

"No, it's okay," Galen assured her. "That's about the size of my old group therapy sessions, so I'm used to it."

"Okay, then," Fred said, looking him up and down. "Let's go." She waited but he did not move, or signal Vancouver to walk.

"Galen…" Fred stepped closer to him, trying to study his face for signs of emotion. "You're not worried, are you?"

Galen sounded tense and breathy: "I haven't been outside, unsupervised… ever."

"It's alright, we're only right around the corner and then you'll be back inside," Fred promised. She took him by the hand, and he nearly crushed hers, giving it a hard squeeze.

_Geez,_ Fred thought. _I know he's afraid, but he's going to break my hand if he squeezes any harder_.

* * *

"Are you just going to ignore me all night?" Cordelia whispered to Angel, sounding very much like a scorned lover. 

"Cordelia," Angel sighed. "You broke up with me, remember?"

Cordelia look over at Buffy, who was talking to Xander and Willow. "I hope you're happy with her."

"_We're_ _not_ _together_."

"Well, I hope you're happier with _someone_," Cordelia huffed. "Because it's obvious it'll never be me. Only goes to show how naïve I was, thinking I was actually special. Almost… worthy."

"Are you _sure_ you want to break up?" Angel questioned her.

"I'm totally positive," Cordelia said, folding her arms and looking self-assured.

"Okay," Angel watched her warily. "Because I don't really want you to leave, you know. I just need some time."

"It's been four goddamn years, Angel," Cordelia hissed at him. "When are you going to move on?"

* * *

"I know you may feel tempted to do things, but I just want you to know," Xander paused dramatically. "That actions always have consequences. And you need to be prepared to deal with those consequences. Punk." 

"I like it," Kennedy appraised. "It's very… Clint Eastwood."

"You think it's intimidating enough?" Xander asked.

"Oh, yeah," Dawn said. "That, uh, potted plant is trembling from that intense no-monkey-business glare you were giving it."

"I just can't have this kind of monkey business in my city, ya no good pot head!"

"Calm down, Xan," Willow said, patting her friend on the shoulder.

"Guys," Buffy said, turning to face the doorway.

"They're here," Angel announced at the same time, standing up.

"Already?" Lorne asked, as the group started to collect, prepared to intimidate upon arrival.

Fred shoved the door open, holding it ajar. The dog appeared first, tan and black with sharp ears and a pink tongue that flopped out of its mouth. The dog was harnessed, attached to a leash held tightly by the owner.

It was the man that made Dawn gasp and her eyes widen.

"Buffy…" Willow whispered.

"Here we are," Fred announced unnecessarily. She frowned disapprovingly at the group of spectators that had formed. "Back off a little, guys?"

A breathless silence had fallen over the others; Dawn dug her nails into Buffy's shoulder, leaning closer in utter shock.

"_Spike_?"

Couver barked at the group, making a whimpering noise while his tail wagged fiercely.

"Shush," Galen scolded, and Vancouver fell silent except for his panting.

"Hi guys," Fred said to the others, who were trying to make sense of this. She remained oblivious to their shock, smiling as sweetly as ever with a hint of jittery excitement. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my friend Galen. Galen, allow me to introduce you to all my friends. Angel, Buffy, Wesley, Gunn, Xander, Cordelia-"

Galen felt a rush of blood to his head as she droned on, his resolve melting into anxiety. _New people is bad, bad, very, very…_

"-Giles, Willow, Kennedy, Dawn, and last by certainly not least, Lorne…" Fred drew a deep breath and smiled at Galen, taking his hand again and unsurprised when he squeezed it tight, muscles trembling. "You didn't catch that, did you?" He shook his head no and she rubbed his shoulder. "It's all right. There's far too many of us. If any of you are mean to him, you'll have to deal with me later."

Gunn managed to chuckle at Fred's playfully stern tone, because he'd never met Spike, but the others could barely close their mouths.

_It's him_, Buffy thought fervently, her eyes etching every inch of 'Galen' into her mind. _It really is Spike. I was so **stupid!** I should've known… I should've connected that the man I saw at the hospital was the one Fred was talking about. That Spike and Galen were just two names for the same man. He's still so beautiful…_

But there was something terribly wrong about him, at the same time. He stood so rigidly, completely out of place and unsure of where he could move. His appearances had changed, brown hair replacing the bleach. His creature of the night look was completely transformed into the mundane, the average human.

She remembered Spike – loose and smoking, two fingers to the world, with a wicked mouth. She remembered him with defensive remarks and sharp, yet accurate observations that cut her emotionally. She remembered him with rumpled hair and avid child's eyes watching her every move. She remembered him with a resigned smile and his head on her shoulder while he slept.

Right now he reminded her of when she'd failed him, and the enemy had taken him. It took too long to rescue him, but somehow she knew he could hold on until she had the chance to save him.

_Tied to the face of a rock with symbols carved into his chest, his face beaten and swollen. He hung limply, no longer wasting his strength trying to fight. _

_So weak and still holding on to hope, mumbling words of courage to himself, uncertain of anything until I cut him free. _

She remembered that first touch, his hand heavy on her shoulder from the fatigue of his muscles, and the look in his eyes when he realized she was real. He'd cried when she helped him stagger out of there, as if somehow he'd worried she was never going to come back for him.

She couldn't begin to fathom why he was here, but she felt that same tug of urgency, a duty to go and cut him free. But… there were no bonds, no people to free him from. It made her eyes water with the frustration of not knowing. **_How is he here and who did this to him? _**

"Fred," Angel said tightly, walking slowly towards them. "Where did you find him?"

"In the library," Fred answered. "I told you that."

"You didn't tell us you _found_ _him_," Angel said, his voice a strange, stifled mix of anger and betrayal.

"What do you mean?" Fred frowned, bristling at Angel's accusing tone.

"Never mind," Angel said. "S…" he looked down instead of saying Spike's name, and Couver's amber eyes looked back at him. "You have a beautiful dog."

"Thanks," Galen shifted a bit, uneasy. "I just got him. He was trained without me, so I'm not used to him guiding me yet. I rather think he ignores me half the time."

Angel listened carefully, searching for traces of his childe. The man's skin smelled like Spike's, but it was too faint and clean. Spike was always disastrously unclean, with layered scents of blood, alcohol, sex, and cigarettes. The scent was more than often on the edge of offensive, but Angelus had grown used to the familiar taste of whiskey and blood over the years.

None of those familiar scents were present, and it was confusing, but almost… nice, in a different way. The brown hair, shy disposition and clean, pure scent promised fresh starts. It reminded Angel of when he'd first met Drusilla's new pet and brought him home.

"I'm Angel," he said, looking for any reaction from the man. This… _Galen_ didn't show any signs of familiarity.

"I own this hotel," he added when Galen didn't reply. "We use it to run Angel Investigations. It's a detective agency, of sorts."

"You spy on people?" Galen asked, almost interested.

"We help the helpless," Angel responded, hoping to provoke any response, but… nothing crossed the man's face. "Saving innocent lives has become something we stand for."

Angel only received a nod and then Fred gave him an apologetic look. "Let's go sit down," she suggested, pulling lightly at Galen's hand.

* * *

The laboratory of Wolfram and Hart had been turned into a temporary medical setup. Temporary had turned into semi-permanent, and a small division was being considered if they were to pursue this new drug interest. 

"How goes it, boys?" Lilah Morgan asked, folding her arms and surveying all of the new little dweebs examining slides under microscopes. When they noticed her, there was a fluster of movement, hungry worker bees buzzing at the queen's approach. _Power-hungry maggots._

"Ma'am," a skittish, eager-to-please type nodded his head at her. "We've been working on more of those pills. Th-there's a chemical instability-"

"Don't care," Lilah looked bored, and watched the workers underneath her heavy, painted eyelids for a moment. "I want something new."

"O-okay," a short one spoke.

"What's your flavor?" Knox spoke calmly, already used to the game.

"I want it to be bad," Lilah said. "I want it obscenely bad, and painful for him. Start throwing out ideas, boys."

One of the technicians twitched. "Uh, how about bursting blood vessels?"

"You're not thinking dark enough," Lilah chastised.

"I can have him puking up his guts," Knox said. "Literally. Extremely messy, with a slow, painful death. Encephalitis virus? Rabies? Or, I could thaw out one of our flesh-eating viruses. Would you like an epidemic or an isolated, freak medical incident?"

"You're going to be in trouble," Lindsey commented dryly, leaning in the doorway of the lab. "In fact, I'm sure the Senior Partners would send you straight to a hell dimension if you let this little… _weasel_ unleash an unauthorized flesh-eating epidemic."

"I wasn't seriously considering it," Lilah replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Although I'd love to watch Angelus' childe die convulsing on the floor. Maybe even orchestrate it for Angel to arrive heroically at the last moment? Hm.… Later. Right now I need you nerds to start working on something specific."

"You name it," Knox said, withdrawing.

"Remember all those nice pills we used to make Puppy calm? I want Spike back."

"You want to make him aggressive again?" a nerd asked, fearfully remembering the ceaseless screaming of rage and pain. It never ended after they'd brought the guy back from hell. He couldn't imagine hell, but it must've been pretty bad.

"I want to make him more aggressive," Lilah corrected. "I want him to make the Hulk look like a pansy."

Lindsey snickered, "You want him green and the size of a truck?"

"I want him deadly," Lilah said, annoyed. "When we bring him in, I want pills to reverse whatever it is the first ones did."

"We can't bring his memory back," Knox informed her. "We can add testosterone, something to agitate…."

"Do whatever it takes," Lilah cut him off. "And get a hypnotic drug in our stock. I'm going to have him programmed while he's here."

* * *

Chatter filled the Hyperion lobby, where Fred, Gunn, and Lorne entertained Galen on the couch. Lorne related comical stories to the other three, but Galen found more interest when Gunn let him hold a few of the daggers from the weapons cabinet, not mentioning how many they actually had in the building. 

In one of the backrooms, the others had gathered, seeking privacy to collect themselves.

"He doesn't recognize any of us," Angel said.

"Of course not," Cordelia muttered. "Freddie mentioned he was damaged goods."

"But you'd think he would still know us," Dawn said, almost pleading. "He's been with us for so long."

"He's lived for so long, we're only a brief phase in his life," Giles corrected. "And true amnesia is usually permanent. A feeling of familiarity and some memories could return, perhaps, but we can't treat him like we've known him all along. We're all perfect strangers to him."

"He's right," Angel agreed. "And since he can't see us, our chances of bringing back any memories is even slimmer."

"Assuming he had memories to begin with," Wesley interjected.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, Buffy," Willow whispered to her friend.

"He's alive," Buffy said, still shell-shocked. "That's all that matters."

"This guy isn't Spike," Xander said. "Not even memory-free Spike. I know he looks like Spike – hell, he even sounds like him – but it isn't. Spike was never so withdrawn."

"I think the lack of sociability is understandable," Giles objected.

"He might be human," Angel pointed out.

"_Might be_?" Buffy repeated. "You're a vampire, you tell me. _Is_ he human?"

"I don't _know_, Buffy," Angel said. "He doesn't smell like Spike, but that doesn't mean much of anything."

"Well, was his heart beating or not?" Dawn asked, standing beside her sister, both wearing a demanding expression.

Angel took a breath and then simply shook his head. "Too many heartbeats around to tell."

"Let's go over what we know," Wesley proposed. "We know that Spike died in the hellmouth."

"You're starting too far ahead," Kennedy said. "And you're wrong; we don't know that. He could've ascended to Nirvana for all we know. No one saw him die."

"But he was on fire," Buffy pointed out softly. "Okay, we know that Spike had a chip in his head."

"And that he obtained a soul," Giles added. "Both of which added humanity to him."

"And the chip was causing a lot of brain damage," Dawn said. "So he had to get it removed. And who knows what else might have gone wrong when they were cutting his head open."

"But he was okay," Buffy said. "That didn't cause memory loss or any eye trouble."

Dawn wasn't convinced. "You don't _know_ _that_, Buffy."

"The soul made him eligible for Shanshu," Angel continued. "The necklace I passed on to Buffy was probably meant for me… but both of us were eligible and he took it."

"So Spike might have gotten Shanshu," Wesley said. "That's one theory."

"He didn't seem right, in the final days," Buffy spoke to herself, trying to remember how Spike had acted. "When he was dying, he was so passive."

"We know that the hellmouth caved in," Xander said, "making Spikey's chances slim to none of survival, even as a vampire."

"We know he still would've gone to hell," Cordelia made a jump in theory. "And Willow's witch act brought _Buffy_ back from the grave."

"The Urn of Osiris was destroyed," Willow objected. "There isn't any way that spell could have been used."

"Perhaps we should also brainstorm what we know about the young man sitting in our lobby?" Giles suggested.

"We don't know much about him," Buffy admitted in reply.

"Other than he's been seeing Fred, and according to her, he's terminally shy and brain damaged," Cordelia pointed out.

"Fred never met Spike," Xander said. "But Spike was never shy. This guy is obviously someone else entirely. Possibly even a sex bot. Spike is a dangerous, bad guy, and we should leave this alone. Who really wants Spike to come back? And by Spike, I mean the crazy psychopath who used to mass murder people."

"I don't know how to answer that. I'm still on "sex bot,"" Kennedy told him.

* * *

"It's not just a different alphabet," Fred informed Gunn. The other man had been belittling the difficulties that Galen had learning Braille, and Fred was getting miffed. "If it were, there would be no problem other than memorizing the characters. The challenge is learning a new alphabet, _plus_ a whole new way of putting words together. Braille is _not_ written out letter for letter, there's a lot of abbreviating." 

"Did we step in on a debate?" Buffy asked, creeping around the couch.

"Oh… no," Fred said, embarrassed for a moment, then giving Gunn a defiant look. "I think I made my stance perfectly clear."

"Ouch," Gunn knew when to back off. "If it means that much to you, I'm sorry. Mad props for wanting to learn all that."

Galen nodded, but didn't say anything, because he knew that even though it was hard, he wasn't learning as well as he should be. Despite Fred's efforts, he could barely remember half of the letters she'd taught him, and he didn't have the heart to tell her he needed to slow down.

Buffy moved in to save Galen before Lorne starting talking about Elizabeth Taylor or someone.

"I'm Buffy," she said, settling on the opposite side of the couch when Gunn went to talk to Wesley. The others were still almost avoiding Galen, watching him from a distance and whispering to each other, but she ignored them.

"I'm Galen."

"I know," Buffy said, scratching her ear awkwardly. She was wishing that she could do more than just lame introductions, but what could she say to a perfect stranger? It was almost painful. "I actually saw you before, at Good Sam."

"Where?"

"The hospital," Buffy generalized quickly.

"I know that," Galen said. After all, he'd only lived there for half of his… not really his life. Surely he'd lived before the amnesia, but it was a black void with vague memories that could very well just be dreams. "I meant which part of the hospital. I've been there a lot of times before, in surgery…"

"For your eyes?" Buffy asked, the slight nod confirming that it should be obvious.

"Didn't help any," Galen added.

"I saw you on the ground floor, with your dog," Buffy told him. "But only for a second."

_Good_, Galen thought, almost sighing with relief. He'd been held up in the psychiatric ward far too many times. He was pathetic enough without being thought of as a lunatic as well.

They heard a gasp and Buffy looked over to see Angel supporting Cordelia, who was in the midst of a vision. "A church…" she whispered, lost in her premonition. "Something… in the shadows… it's hunting him…" her eyes focused again as the vision left her and she looked at Angel, her… She remembered he wasn't hers anymore and quickly shook off his touch. "There's a demon in a church," she said to him, lowering her voice even more so certain ears couldn't hear.

"What just happened?" Galen asked.

"Oh, she was on the phone," Buffy said quickly, feeling guilty for a moment that they could get away with most anything if they were quiet about it. "That was a new case. Angel doesn't kid around when he says he saves lives."

"Does he wear a swirly cape, too?" Galen asked, feeling comfortable enough to let a little cheekiness show.

Angel couldn't help but smile at the reference. "Guys," he whispered to Wesley and Gunn. "Could you handle this on your own? _Please_…?"

Wesley glanced over at Galen, who was warming up to Buffy while the other girls hovered nearby, curious yet silent. He nodded, knowing that Spike didn't matter as much to him as it did to the others. "Where is the location?"

"St. Peter," Cordelia's forehead scrunched, trying to think.

"St. Peter's Church, not too far from here," Giles said.

"Yeah, they've done this sort of thing before," Buffy assured Galen as Gunn discreetly collected weapons and walked past them. "It's not a big deal, really."

"It's kind of cool," Galen said uncertainly, detecting a shifting of the couch cushion beside him. "Freelance vigilantes. And, hey, I still have an eighth grade vocabulary. I'm on fire."

He heard a giggle behind him and leaned back his head, as he'd learned to face the sounds of people.

"Hi," Dawn said coyly, leaning over the back of the couch, smiling when he looked at her. "I'm Dawn."

"Another one," Galen said, amused.

"Your dog is really cool," Dawn told him, looking down where Vancouver laid at Galen's feet. "German Sheperds are an awesome breed. Can I pet him?"

"If it were another time, I'd let you play with him all you want," Galen said regretfully. "But I'll catch hell if I keep letting people pet him while he's in his harness. He's working right now. It'll spoil him or something."

"I understand," Dawn said, straightening up. "So why do you wear those glasses?"

"Because my doctor tells me to," Galen answered.

"Do you _always_ do everything your doctor tells you to?"

Galen laughed and lowered his head, to save his neck from aching. "Not always."


	11. Guilt

**A/N: Uber-thanks to Arret for betaing this chapter! She made me go back and rewrite the entire thing, so it's 200x better.  
You guys have been amazingly sweet with your reviews. Thanks for pushing me onwards.**

* * *

"So you live with other people?" Willow questioned. 

"Yeah, a few," Galen answered. "It's a group home. There are two supervisors that alternate, so there's always one overnight."

"That sounds like jail," Dawn said, very opinionated as always.

"Good thing they let me out on good behavior," Galen remarked, not really joking. "What about you, though? How is your unchained life?"

"I live with my sister, Buffy, Willow and Kennedy," Dawn answered. "And I go to school everyday, so I know the pain of being supervised."

"Why do you live in a group home?" Willow asked, startled to discover Galen's residence, although he didn't specify an address.

"Independent living skills," Galen said, parroting what he'd been told all along. "Which mostly entails learning how to obsessively organize things."

"Well…" Dawn thought about it for a second. "Yeah, because you can't see things. You might mistake a can of dog food for vegetables, and next thing you know you're eating beef-flavored glop while Couver is eating peas and carrots."

Galen made a face like the thought alone left a bad taste in his mouth. "Somehow, I think I'd figure that one out enough to take the right dish."

Buffy felt like she was drowning, sitting so close to Galen, but unable to join the weak conversation. Every minute passing by was another minute lost before Spike would be leaving, with no clue if they would ever see him again. There were so many things she didn't know, that it was killing her not to just beg him to stay. They could explain everything to him and convince him it was all true, make him understand, make him stay!

There was still a nagging doubt in her mind, _Is it even him?_

It couldn't be. Not the vampire she used to know. Not the Spike who told stories about people he once killed. _"I knew a bloke… didn't like him… he got stuck in my teeth." _

He sat so close to her, and yet somehow untouchable. The tension that stayed in his back, told her to stay away, but at the same time she wanted to reach out and soothe the tension away.

_I'm not supposed to feel this way_, Buffy reminded herself, feeling like she was losing control of everything and she couldn't even remember what is was. _Spike is the one who is supposed to call me Goldilocks and offer up sex at every inconvenient opportunity. I'm supposed to tell him that I can't and follow it up with lots of reasons why. "Because you're evil, Spike. Because you're disgusting." _

Buffy suddenly felt nauseated listening to herself, and a new thought struck her like a snap-kick in the face. _No wonder I broke him,_ Buffy realized. _I kept thinking… he only used me for the sex. Gee, Buffy, would it ever be so brain-melting to think that maybe I was completely wrong? _

Actually, it was a little brain-melting, so she took a second to look at Galen while she mulled it over. _I was really the one using him. Me. I used him to feel, and I made sure he always remembered that. Even after he'd just been inside of me – and was still inside of me, in ways – I always made sure he knew he couldn't keep a piece of me. That he might fuck me, but I was the one who used him to get what I wanted. I made sure to make him feel like he never really touched me, even when he spent the entire night pleasing me with his fingers and his mouth, trying desperately to reach some magic number…. What did he think? Just one more orgasm, and I'd give it up? That I would stay the night with him if he could manage to wear me out? Let him hold me… or treat me like a lover…? _

Galen broke into a smile, laughing over something that Dawn had said. He was just as handsome as ever, but completely different. His demeanor was nothing like the vampire. He didn't have the lazy, confident slouch, like a young lion that knew he could own everything.

It was the glasses, Buffy thought. Spike always had wicked eyes, the color of ocean ice. He didn't flash those sharp, penetrating looks at her. It was something Spike always did to her, like she was always naked in front of him. She had to blame the glasses because the thought that Spike could go blind was enough to make everything she knew break apart. Spike was the observant one. She had always been a mystery to Angel, or something not worth figuring out, but Spike sought her out until he knew every dark corridor of her heart. She felt there was nothing she could hide away from him, and it was her undoing. She hated just being near him when he gave her those smug looks that said, _You're nothing surprising to me, love_.

Those sympathetic looks that said… _Don't worry about a thing_, _pet_.

The radiant sparkle in his eyes when he figured it all out. _I understand with perfect clarity what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy._

But now…

"That's really clever," Galen said to Fred, plucking a thin rubber band that was stretched across his fingers. "I've used rubber bands, but I only had the flat ones."

"We get a lot with the deli sandwiches," Fred told him. "It could make for a more sophisticated labeling system, if you took the time to think it over. And if we don't get rid of them, Charles and Wesley have a tendency to get into fights."

He couldn't look at her that way anymore. It wouldn't be so bad if he remembered all that they'd been through, but he didn't remember _anything_. Didn't know that he'd finally figured her out, or that he loved her, or that he even knew her.

And Buffy was at a loss because… she couldn't figure out why he loved her in the first place. Why, in the face of Riley and Parker and even Angel, did he decide that she was something worth going beyond an extra mile for? Why did he put up with her when all she did was abuse him? When she'd treated every other man in her life like a god and they all left anyway because they couldn't bear not having that last inch of her.

_I don't usually think about this_, Buffy lied to herself in her head, but she knew that all along she had been thinking about her actions quite clearly. She remembered how much she wanted Spike to stay, to follow through, and at the same time that new negative voice in her head wanted to chase him away. _Go ahead, just leave me already. I know you will anyway. You're all the same. You want to use me up and throw me away. I'm not falling for it this time. You can think what you want, you can gloat about having me, but I'll have the last laugh, because when you walk away, you're the one who's the whore. I won't shed a tear over you._

And she didn't _understand_ why he insisted on sticking with her. Riley left her for much less, wanted her to bend over backwards to satisfy his insecurities.

_Spike… must have had those same thoughts. I broke him, after all. I don't know when I embedded those lies into his head. "You're disgusting, Spike." But it happened. I drove all of that want out of him until he thought; 'The only thing I have to offer her is sex. It's the only time she'll let me close to her. So if that's what it takes, I'll give her what she wants. Just let me get close to you'._

The thought made her shudder with guilt, but it was so scalding true that Buffy had to look away from the others, staring at her hands. It wasn't just a guilty thought. It was true, and she knew it the instant she found Spike in that church.

_"Am I flesh to you?"_ His voice bore all of the evidence that she had made him hurt as much as she'd wanted it to. She had to punch him then, to try to make him think otherwise, but it didn't work. The best thing she did for him was let him spend his last days with her unmolested. Even then he still believed that she just pitied him. Maybe she did, but he could never realize – even she hadn't realized – that he had won her over.

She'd gotten what she wanted. Finally one guy who didn't abandon her, who pursued her until she broke him.

Only now she finally thought, _I should have let him catch me. But I was scared. I couldn't handle another heartbreak. _

Maybe it was better that he didn't remember her.

* * *

Angel watched from the other end of the room, unable to find any reason to invite himself into the conversation. Dawn was getting along just fine with Galen, as were Willow and Fred. 

He couldn't help but notice that Buffy had lost the love of the conversation. She almost looked like she was… _brooding_. He almost felt like walking over so he could elbow her in the ribs and joke about her stealing his role. _I dated Cordelia for too long_. Another part of him wanted to go over and quietly ask her what was wrong, but he had to remind himself he didn't have that right anymore. Buffy had made it clear that they were done – no more holding onto old dreams.

He was pretty sure that she felt the same about Spike's presence as he did. On the other hand, he doubted that she was having a guilt trip over leaving her estranged childe to die, never bothering to bond with him except for the occasional murder. She probably didn't feel the same way at all, in fact. She was probably just freaked out that Spike was sitting right next to her and didn't even know her. He shared that feeling, when he had spoken directly to Galen and couldn't detect a twinge of Spike on him.

There had been a day when he could track Spike from a mile away, following faint traces of scent, and victims that his stupid childe had ripped apart.

He understood why Buffy just gave up and let Fred talk to Galen like they were old, good friends. If only Fred knew who she had found, realized what she had done by bringing him here.

* * *

"Buffy," Dawn interrupted her sister's thoughts. 

Buffy snapped out of her self-loathing and looked over her sister, managing to almost look happy. "What's up?"

"You were quiet…" Dawn trailed off, frowning at her sister.

"I was just listening to you guys," Buffy insisted, telling herself it was at least half the truth. "You were getting along so well."

Dawn looked sympathetic, knowing that Buffy must be having a hard time.

"We wanted you to fill Galen in on how you found out about Good Sam," Willow told her. "Come on, you were all excited about it last week."

_Last week was different_, Buffy thought miserably, biting her lip. Her eyes locked onto Galen when she looked away from Willow, and she froze.

He'd lost that horrible tension, slouched forward with his feet, elbows resting on his knees, fingers bridged together in front of him. While she stared, he lifted his head and looked directly at her, as if he was giving her an expectant gaze.

She knew it was impossible, that the glasses made it seem that way, but she deeply felt that he was looking straight into her eyes, full of patience and amusement, well aware that she was somewhat intimidated but still waiting for her to make her move.

"Go ahead," Galen said when the silence carried on unbroken. "I'm listening."

_It's nothing major_, Buffy told herself, trying not to burst into an infectious smile. Just his attention was making her blush like a schoolgirl once again. She could do this, couldn't she? She could make him fall in love with her once again, and do it right this time. Even if it took another four years, she knew that she would wait that long to ensnare the one man who never left her.

"Okay," Buffy decided. "I'll tell you."

* * *

"It was just a small slice." 

"He split his hand wide open," Kennedy corrected. "And he got blood all over the floor. I _told_ him not to play around with the… turkey knife."

"Giles is the only one who could have almost taken his thumb clean off," Buffy said, with a touch of teasing annoyance in her voice. "I mean, besides Xander."

"Gee, thanks, Buff," Xander answered with dripping sarcasm.

"That had to have hurt," Lorne winced, feeling queasy at the mention of blood.

"There was a surprising amount of blood, from such a small wound," Giles said, just as casual as the day that the blood had been gushing from his hand.

"You call almost cutting your thumb off a _small_ _wound_?" Galen asked with an incredulous shake of his head.

"That's what _I_ said to him," Buffy snorted, locking onto his eyes for a moment, knowing that his blue eyes would be creased from laughter. He turned away, oblivious to her, and Buffy remembered to carry one with the story. "So we had to take him to the emergency room, of course."

"It was nothing," Giles insisted, still the king of understatements. "They gave me a few stitches and a band-aid."

"You were lucky," Buffy corrected him. "Anyway, that was the night that I discovered Good Sam had a job opening. And the service was so good-"

"The staff was most helpful," Giles interrupted.

"Yes," Buffy raised one eyebrow and gave Giles half smile, puzzled by him. "The staff was so nice to Giles, it seemed like a good place to work. So a week later, I filled out a job application, and shortly after that…" after the usual days of demon hunting, and some Evil Possessed Willow drama, "I had an interview and they told me I was perfect for the job. You know, in comparison to anyone else who had applied. The drawback was I had no experience, so I had to work my butt off to get all of the basic training."

"You're one determined girl," Galen said. "Gotta admire strong women."

Buffy broke into an unrestrained smile, delighted by his compliment. It sounded so much like something Spike would say to her, she was out of her mind with pleasure.

"My sister is the coolest," Dawn said, smoothly entering the conversation. "But you'd have to know her to believe half of the stuff she's done."

"She's exaggerating," Buffy said with a nervous smile, completely exhilarated but trying to remain modest.

"Yeah… but barely," Dawn shrugged, slipping away from the couch again.

"And here I thought I was going to be greeted with an onslaught of near-criminal threats," Galen said curiously.

"Fred exaggerates, too," Buffy told him.

"Any friend of hers is a friend of ours," Willow added.

"Well you guys can be kind of mean," Fred protested. "And you _were_ plotting to pop the poor guy's head off."

"Because we thought he was a creep," Xander said quickly. "But obviously we know see this isn't the case, therefore no head popping."

"Right," Buffy agreed. "Heads all in place."

"Well, I feel really safe here," Galen said, then paused for a moment. "Just as long as no one gives Giles a turkey knife."

There was a small chorus of amused chuckles and Giles looked desperately to Angel. "It was really a large battle ax," he whispered to him, in his own defense. "And it was an accident, I assure you."

"I understand," Angel promised, glancing at the scar on the thumb in question. "I've had worse encounters with an _actual_ turkey knife."

"I wasn't aware that you cooked," Giles gave him a sideways glance.

"And now you understand why," Angel responded.

"How much time do you have left?" Fred asked Galen. "I mean, before anyone expects you back?"

Galen's mind went blank at the sudden drawback of reality. "Uhh…" he wet his lips nervously. "What time is it?"

"Eight," Giles answered after a moment to check his watch.

Galen fidgeted and tried to work it over. "Lights out is at nine," he said aloud, trying to think. _Nine… and it's… eight now…That's only…_ Nothing came to mind, stressing him more. The numbers wouldn't sit still in his head long enough to figure anything out. _Gotta be back at nine. But, no, that's when we go to sleep. I need to take pills first and – No pills! No more pills! _

Buffy became worried when Galen pressed his palm against his forehead, clearly maxing out on the stress levels. The sudden change, from relaxed and laughing to tense and upset made her uneasy.

"Are you alright?" Buffy asked, wondering why he was so troubled.

"I think I have half an hour," Galen said, not certain at all, but tossing out an answer so they'd leave him alone. _Everyone always wants answers from me._

"Well, are you sure?"

Galen shifted his hand, feeling his eyes involuntarily shut, muscles tightening and twitching. _I don't know everything. God, I--_ "No, I'm not sure. _I don't want to get caught_--"

Fred took the initiative, standing up and walking around so she could take his hand in her hands. "Shhh, don't worry. Why don't we just head back right now?"

"I don't have to…" his eyes clench again, painfully, as his distress spiked. _Great, I'm acting like a big ninny in front of them all._

"But if you stay, there's a bigger chance that someone will find out you're not at the library," Fred said, understanding.

Galen breathed out slowly, succumbing to the soothing rubbing motions of her hands on his head. "Yes."

"Then we should go," Fred said, straightening up and letting her fingers slip off of him. "Because it'd just break my heart not to see you anymore."

He could barely entertain the thought of being caught. Forget about being able to go to the library, he would never step foot outside of the home. He'd lose the trust, he'd be watched like a hawk when he took his pills, possibly even given new ones. Just the thought of new pills brought back memories of the old ones. The taste of blood every time he puked, the lies and the paranoia, crying or screaming in delirium and afterwards never remembering why….

He couldn't go through that again. The consequences of being found would undo him.

Vancouver moved out of the way when his master stood up, and then returned to his side when he was called back. He stood still, waiting for his master to pick up his lead.

"Sorry guys," Fred said while Galen wrapped the spare length of leather around his hand, keeping Vancouver tight to his side. "I guess we're calling it a night. I'll be back soon."

"Wait," Buffy quickly walked over to them. "I could walk him back to the library. I mean, _with_ him."

"It's okay, Buffy," Fred assured her. "It'd be better if I took him. No offense."

Buffy saw where Fred was coming from, but Fred didn't understand her side of it. She had to go with Galen. She should have been the one to rub his head when he was stressing out, to hold onto his arm when he walked. The trouble was, she could barely remember how to offer those small comforts anymore. She never held Spike when he was hurt, but she needed to learn.

"I really must insist," she gritted out, giving Fred a severe Don't-Question-Me look. "I'll go with the both of you – it's dangerous to be walking alone in the alleys so late at night."

Fred gave Buffy an uneasy look, and then glanced at Angel, who nodded. When she looked behind her, all of the girls were nodding, much more emphatically. She didn't know what was up, but she knew when to give in. "Okay," she surrendered, agreeing to Buffy's company.

"Great," Buffy's cheerful scale jumped up ten notches. "Let's go, then. Bye guys."

Galen didn't care that no one replied, just gratefully took Fred's small, familiar hand and followed her lead. It would still be a while before he would be comfortable enough with Vancouver to let the dog lead him on his own, but until then, he loved to have Fred guiding him.

* * *

A long, tense silence followed the departure. 

"Oh… my… GOD!" Dawn cried out in disbelief, sinking down onto the couch.

Willow tried shushing her, but was immediately overwhelmed by the flood of chatter.

"It was really him?" Cordelia asked, barely believing it.

"I never really knew the guy-" Gunn said.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Kennedy sniffed.

"Definitely a sex bot," Xander said stubbornly.

"Yes, because he was so clearly trying to jump Buffy's bones," Giles answered snidely.

Dawn picked up a couch pillow that had been in contact with Galen's back while he was sitting. She examined it, and then clutched it to her chest. "He was here. But I mean, was it even him?"

"I don't know," Angel answered. "I couldn't tell."

"It couldn't have been," Willow said. "I mean, it looked like him, kind of sounded like him, kind of acted like him, sure, but was it Spike-Spike? No. No way. It was…"

"Galen," Dawn said. "His name is Galen, and he's _real_. And I don't care what the rest of you think, but I like him."

"Maybe you shouldn't get your hopes up, Dawnie," Willow suggested. "We don't know anything about his guy and it might be one giant cosmic joke, or it might be such a volatile, lucky situation, that – _poof_ – if we do something wrong he'll just disappear and we'll never see him again."

"How do we know he isn't evil?" Xander questioned.

"I'm quite sure he isn't," Giles removed his glass to polish the lenses.

"But what if he is?" Xander persisted. "What if he's evil, but memory-free William the Bloody? What then?"

"Xander, _shut_ _up_," Angel sighed. "I knew William the Bloody before any of you were born. This was definitely more William and less Bloody, but it's also something else altogether."

"We shouldn't be assuming things," Cordelia said, getting pissed off. "Because it all makes for a very confusing conversation! Xander thinks he's an evil robot and Willow thinks he's a figment of our imaginations – could we all just write down these different ideas and discuss them thoroughly instead of just blabbing about them out all at once?!"

"Does anyone have a pen?" Willow questioned in turn. There was a quick scramble for pen and paper and then the list began.

* * *

Buffy shivered in the cool night air, but didn't regret forgetting her coat. She walked on the other side of Galen, but was separated by Vancouver. She couldn't help but feel seething jealousy for Fred – and of the dog – because they were both at ease with Galen. She wanted so badly to take Fred's place, to get the most smiles from Galen, and his hand in hers. The little bitch didn't even realize how lucky she was, either. _That was harsh, Buffy. Fred doesn't even know._

"The library is right up here," Fred said softly, guiding Galen to the spot where the street and the curb made a smooth transition, whereas Buffy just stepped up.

Buffy felt like even more of an inconsiderate bitch now, just noticing the extra diverted steps Fred had taken so Galen wouldn't stumble. If she were the one leading him, she would have never thought about that. God, she had a long ways to go before she would be girlfriend material again.

"You didn't happen to notice any cars around?" Galen questioned when they slowed to a stop.

Buffy gave a sharp glance around the area. "Black Mazda down the street."

"She isn't here," Galen said, relieved. "I'll have to call her. You guys should go. Mary wouldn't be as understanding as Brenda if she saw you."

"She'd be that upset if she saw you with two beautiful women lingering around?" Buffy questioned, making Fred blush.

"I'm supposed to use the library for studying," Galen said warily. He took his cell phone from his pocket, feeling the buttons until he could orientate his fingers.

"Alright, we'll go," Buffy agreed, taking Fred's arm and pulling away.

"Goodnight, Galen," Fred called quickly before Buffy yanked her away. "Ouch. Where are we-" she jumped in fear when Buffy clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her off silently until they were far from the street corner, tucked behind the grand staircase to the library.

"Shh," Buffy hissed, pressing Fred back against the bricks and peeking out at Galen, who was just hitting speed dial.

"Why are we hiding?" Fred whispered, a little afraid. Knowing her friends, Buffy could be possessed for all she knew.

"Shh," Buffy said again, lowering her voice even more. She was face-to-face with Fred, so they could speak very quietly and hear each other just fine. "I don't want to get him trouble, but I'm, not leaving. Do you have _any_ _idea_ who that is?" Buffy hissed at her.

"He's Galen," Fred answered, wide-eyed.

"That's Spike," Buffy whispered desperately, starting to tear up. "_His_ _name_ _is_ _Spike_."

"But…" Fred searched her memory of when Buffy first came to LA. "You all said that he died. You told us, when the hellmouth collapsed Spike was in the center. Even a vampire-"

"That's the big question, BatGirl," Buffy said, darting another glance out to make sure Galen was still there. "How is he here? Do you realize how _fucking_ _insane this is?_"

"Buffy," Fred gasped, still panicky. "I've never heard you swear before."

"Well, I usually don't," Buffy answered. "But this is really unbelievably insane."

"I don't understand," Fred whimpered a bit, but Buffy was looking out at the street again. That Mary person must have already been heading to pick him up, because a car was pulling up. They both watched him get in; a stocky woman let Vancouver into the backseat, and then drove off.

"Did you catch a license plate number?" Buffy asked in an afterthought.

"Uh, no," Fred answered.

"Doesn't matter," Buffy whirled on Fred, grabbing her shoulders with more force than she'd usually use on the small girl. "I _need_ to know: **_Where_**_ did you find him?_"

"Right here," Fred answered shakily, gesturing to the brick wall adjacent to them. "In the library. H-he was looking for science books and I was in the science section. I never knew that he was Spike."

Buffy relaxed her grip, and Fred shifted her aching shoulders uncomfortably. "What kind of books was he looking for?"

"Uh, blindness… blepharospasms," Fred shrugged. "It's still a mystery to him, why he's blind. But head injuries can be strange. I mean, some people die from falling down while other people walk away from terrible accidents."

"We need to talk," Buffy told her tersely. "But not here. Come on."

* * *

"Buffy!" Willow looked up when her friend walked in through the door. 

"We're glad you're back," Xander said. "Please tell Willow that he was obviously a sex robot."

"Which was why he was calling Willow a lesbian every ten seconds and trying to straddle Buffy?" Dawn asked sarcastically.

"We made a list of things that we think Galen might be," Willow said to Buffy.

"Number 1: he's human, by way of the Shanshu prophecy," Dawn said.

"Number 2: he's Spike with his memories gone," Willow said.

"Number 3: he's a sex robot!" Xander interrupted again.

"Shut up, Xander," Kennedy muttered.

"He can't be a vampire," Fred interrupted. "Even if he looks like Spike. He showed me a sunburn that he got sitting out in the sun. He's not a vampire."

"Are you sure?" Buffy frowned.

"I'm sure," Fred nodded. "Vampires don't burn – they cook."

Willow gave one last look for objections and then crossed out all mentions of vampire-ness. "Okay, on with the list we have, 4: a body snatcher; 5: Spike's good twin from the universe that Evil Willow came from," Willow paused again, looking for objections. "6: the human version of Spike from any _other_ parallel universe; 7: a figment of our imaginations; 8: a demon; 9: someone using magic to disguise themselves as Spike; 10: a trick in some bigger scheme… that one was vague. 11: a human who happens to look like Spike – because they say all people have a twin, right? Anyway, 12: an evil rabbit inside of a Spike suit with a scheme to conquer the world. That was homage to Anya. And lastly, number 13: an eggplant."

"An eggplant," Buffy repeated, deadpan. "That was seriously the best you guys could come up with?"

"I'm just throwing it out there, but: sex bot," Xander said again.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "We heard you the first twenty times."

"Eggplants are unnatural," Dawn insisted.

"We brainstormed a lot of _credible_ ideas," Wesley said. "If Willow would have the decency to cross out the ridiculous ones."

"I just wrote down everything that people suggested," Willow said, stubbornly, crossing out a couple. "This goes against the teachings of Sherlock Holmes."

""Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent"?" Wesley suggested.

"Uh… I was thinking of , "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, howeverimprobable, must be the truth,"" Willow replied. "But that works too."

"If he turns out to be an eggplant, I'll eat my heels," Buffy pledged.

"Just wait until he turns out to be 100 percent robot," Xander said. "Then you'll all realize that I was right all along."

"I'm leaning towards the Shanshu prophecy," Buffy said.

"Me too," Angel nodded. "Although it makes me wonder what happened to him in all of that time between his death and… now."

"Well, Fred's been hogging him for a while," Cordelia said accusingly.

"I didn't know it was Spike," Fred protested weakly. "I don't really even understand who Spike _is_. No one's mentioned him since he died. All I ever got was, 'Spike was Angel's childe and Buffy's boyfriend. He got a soul and died. Don't mention him in front of them.'"

Buffy and Angel glanced at each other for a moment and then looked away.

"If he's back, it changes all of that," Buffy said. "Let's just assume that he is human, most likely because of the Shanshu. It means that he's innocent again. He isn't really Spike, because his past has been wiped clean. All of those bad things he did don't matter anymore, because he's human again."

"You never knew the human him," Angel said tensely, feeling a bit jealous.

Buffy blinked out of her daydream and looked at Angel with a frown. "Why do you say that? Was he… bad?"

"You've never asked about him," Angel pointed out. "You never cared to know… who he was."

"Well, I… I never really wanted to know," Buffy frowned, feeling guilty again. "Because he killed Slayers. I didn't want to dig any deeper than that. But I need to know now. How bad was he?"

Angel stood quietly for a moment, wondering if he should even tell them. It would be let letting go of the little secrets that made Spike _his_. After a long moment, Angel decided he could give up a couple seeds of knowledge, if only to prove that he knew Spike in ways they never did.

"He was dying."

Buffy stood still for a moment, brow furrowing. "What?"

"He was dying from consumption. It was rampant in his era. He wouldn't have lasted more than a couple of years."

"But Drusilla sired him," Buffy finished, remembering Spike's story.

"No, I sired him," Angel corrected her. "Drusilla wanted a new pet, but she almost killed him. Some vision struck her, and she didn't stay still long enough to carry through with the siring. When I found them, I was sure he was dead. I had to carry him back to the house and finish it myself. I was sure that Dru's interest would burn out in a fortnight, but he was different. He cared more about her than hunting. I still don't know why. He was… obsessive about pleasing her. You must have noticed that."

* * *

"It's good that you're back," Mary said, holding onto Galen's elbow to guide him into the building again. She did this because it was her job, rather than caring whether or not Galen was capable of getting around by himself. "We have a new resident here." 

"Already?" Galen asked, feeling cold because he knew that Jenny's death just meant a free bed.

"Things go fast," Mary said, not particularly specific about anything. "His name is Dunstan."

"Uh…huh…" Galen said slowly.

"He's already been told about the rules, he just hasn't met you yet," Mary said, locking the door behind them and letting go to Galen's arm. He reached out and touched the wall, orientating himself for a moment.

"Mary," an unfamiliar voice said, and Galen listened to someone approach, guessing this must be Dunstan. "There isn't a radio at all in here."

"Radios are off limits," Mary replied, not caring.

"But I need music to fall asleep," Dunstan persisted. "If I don't have music, I'll be up all night."

"Then have someone bring you a personal radio and keep it in your room," Mary said curtly. "Until then, we do have tranquilizers."

Dunstan made a sour face and looked down at Vancouver, recoiling in disgust. "Why is there a _dog_ in here? Animals aren't allowed in mental health facilities."

"You got an issue with my dog?" Galen demanded. If he could, he would be giving Dunstan a murderous glare.

"Pets aren't allowed. I hate dogs," Dunstan said. "I'm allergic."

"Vancouver is Galen's seeing-eye dog," Mary said sharply. "He isn't a pet, he's a trained worker. If you don't like him, you can go back to the hospital. No skin off of my nose. Your choice."

"I don't care as long as the thing's been vaccinated," Dunstan gave Vancouver a sneer. "I don't care if you like living with fleas, but I don't."

Vancouver whined slightly, a loud half-yawn half whimper sound. He leaned against his harness and Galen gave him a pat, remembering that his dog was probably tired and hungry after a long day and wanted to get some rest. Dunstan seemed to take the noise as a threat, taking a step away from Vancouver.

"Just keep that dog away from me," Dunstan said, apparently not knowing when to shut up. "I don't care if it's a seeing-eye dog – if he's not properly trained and you don't know how to handle him, you shouldn't be allowed to have him. I could call animal control on that mutt of yours."

"Can I hit him?" Galen asked pleadingly.

"No," Mary said, although seriously tempted.

"Did he just threaten me?" Dunstan questioned, looking like he was about to run for 911.

"Calm down, both of you," Mary glowered. She wasn't getting paid enough for this job. "Hitting anyone doesn't solve anything, Galen," she said to him in her best restrained motherly voice. "And Dunstan, if you just leave him alone, Galen will never trouble you."

"German Sheperds are a vicious breed of dogs," Dunstan said stubbornly. "And this one is clearly not trained well."

"He's trained to take a chunk of flesh off of fucktards like you," Galen snarled in return, tugging on Vancouver's lead and the dog lead him at a brisk pace to the living room.

"_Galen_," Mary scolded sharply, but he was gone. She gave Dunstan a sharp look. "Let's go over our emergency policies, so you can understand where we draw the line in a situation."

"What was that about?" Rachel hissed, pulling on Galen's hand when he passed the couch.

They heard the office door shut as Mary and Dunstan went to talk. Rachel tugged insistently on Galen's arm until he let himself sit. He missed the arm of the couch, so fell into the seat instead, half in Rachel's lap.

"That's the guy taking Jenny's room?" Galen muttered angrily, dropping Vancouver's lead so the dog could relax on the floor.

"He's a real fat ass," Rachel sniffed, pushing back against Galen, since most of his weight was being pressed against her. "Ow, you're laying on my tit."

Galen tired to sit up, but his weight was against him and he only managed to slump back against Rachel again.

She petted him sympathetically, rubbing his (delightfully) firm stomach. "Hey baby."

"That's horrifying," Eamon shivered, glancing over at the two. "Should I save you?"

"You're just jealous that he's not sprawled out across your lap," Rachel hissed back to Eamon with a smirk. She winked at Addison, who was sitting at the poker table. "You know, G, you're pretty sexy like this."

"Ookay," Galen rolled off of her, hitting the floor and landing on Vancouver's tail with a decidedly quiet thump. Vancouver jumped up with a loud yelp. "Sorry," Galen winced at the yelp, but heard Vancouver walk away and flop back onto the floor.

He pushed himself up and leaned back against the couch, not moving when Rachel began running her fingers through his hair.

"That Dunstan is a real creep, body mass aside," Eamon said. "He has a flaming hatred for alcoholics, never mind that I haven't touched a sodding drop for the last month. Says they're all micks."

"That's just wrong," Galen frowned, while Rachel started to slip her hands under his shirt and rub his shoulders in a way that made him blush.

"He got on my case about drug abusers," Addison said. "Which is fine by me, I probably deserve it, but he doesn't even have the balls to come out and say it straight up to my face that he's got an issue with me. If anyone has an issue with _me_, I'd rather they say it to my fucking face instead of beating around the bush like some fag."

"He'd probably piss his pants," Galen guessed.

"Fucking right. I'd make him bite down on the curb and drive his teeth back into his skull," Addison laughed. "See if he ever runs his bitch mouth off to me again."

"He's not even in here for anything," Eamon added. "At least we're all in here for real issues."

"Right. The mick punched a cop in his drunken stupor," Rachel said, earning a glare from Eamon. "Addy is a fucking cokehead, I'm schizo and Galen is simply fucked. We're pretty much evened up – Eamon and Addison are abusers and Galen and I are mental."

"He must be some sort of evil tentacle monster," Galen's forehead scrunched, trying to imagine it.

"Tentacles…" Rachel shivered.

"He's a hypochondriac," Eamon corrected. "As soon as he got here, he made sure we all knew about his many oppressing illnesses."

"He's allergic to everything under the sun," Rachel jumped in with a huff. "Pollen, cats, _dogs_, latex, peanuts, dust, mayonnaise-"

"I'm allergic to bullshit," Addison faked a sneeze and Rachel grinned at him.

"Don't forget the phobias," Eamon chuckled. "He's afraid of spiders, heights, airplanes, horses,-"

"Yeah," Rachel grinned. "He said he had _barophobia, _too."

"Who the fuck is afraid of bars?" Addison snickered.

"Could we not get into bars again?" Eamon asked.

"I love them," Rachel said.

"You get the best customers there?" Galen asked with a laugh. "Ow!" he yelped when Rachel yanked his head back by his hair.

"Watch your mouth, or your bed will be vacant soon."

"I think they'd figure it out if he went missing," Eamon said to her. "Of course, they'd never find the body if you hid him in that gaping abyss you call a cunt."

"_Eww_," Galen shuddered.

"Shut up, both of you," Addison growled. "You give her a lot of shit-"

"It's cool, Addy," Rachel sneered. "I'm thick-skinned. Now what about my cunt, and why are you imagining Galen inside of it?"

"Bleugh!" Galen made retching noises, scooting away from Rachel. "Enough. No more. Change the subject. Why… why is Dunkist here if he's just a hypo-whatever?"

"Dunkin is apparently here because he went hormonal on his parole officer," Eamon told him. "It was nothing serious, but the way it appears to me, he freaked out and insisted he was mentally ill. No diagnosis, of course."

"He's a whiner," Addison stated.

"How much do you want to bet he's a baby toucher?"

"Baby toucher? He looks like he'd put his own daughter on the street corner," Addison muttered.

"He's a fundie," Rachel conspired. "An intolerant Nazi fuckhole of a fundie who rapes babies and-"

They all paused when the office door opened; suddenly hoping the walls weren't very thin.

"-If you have any concerns, we urge you to come to either myself or Brenda. The reason why you're here is to learn to live with other people. If we all went around alerting the authorities to every disagreement, it would be extremely counter-productive, not to mention it would bog down the system."

"Couver," Galen whispered, and Vancouver belly-crawled over to him. Galen firmly clasped Vancouver's harness, worried about leaving the dog vulnerable to Dunstan's paranoia.

"It's about time for lights out," Mary announced, leaning into the living room. "Those of you taking medication, your pills will be ready in a few minutes."

Galen stood, pulling Vancouver up with him. "I need to feed Couv."

"It's late, Galen," Mary frowned.

"I know, but I forgot to feed him before we went out tonight, and he's been working hard all day," Galen said, patting Vancouver's side while the dog panted.

"I'll help Galen with the food," Eamon volunteered immediately, although he knew Galen was becoming resourceful on his own. He stood up before anyone objected, taking Galen's arm and going into the kitchen. Dunstan gave them a stare, but Eamon determinedly ignored it.

Galen touched the counter and nudged his foot against Vancouver's bowl to get a sense of where it was. "He only needs half a can," he told Eamon while the other man found the food and rummaged for a can opener. Galen sat down on the floor because it was easier. Fred taught him to use whatever tactics made things easier for him, and never fear if he looked a bit silly doing it. No one had the right to criticize him for it.

He found both of Vancouver's bowls while the dog sat down next to him.

"You got water?" Galen asked, checking the bowl with his finger and shaking his hand when he immediately touched water. "Yup," he picked up the other empty dish and set it in his lap. "Get me a spoon?"

"I could do it," Eamon said.

"I know _you_ could do it. I'm supposed to," Galen said, reaching out for what he needed. "Can. Spoon. Thank you."

The trouble with food was that he always got messy handling it. The compressed, beef-flavored glop was nothing but slimy fluids at the top, and Vancouver immediately licked his beefy fingers. Galen grimaced and wiped his hand. He scooped out half of the food into the dog bowl and Vancouver immediately tried to eat it right then and there.

"No, Couver, wait," Galen pushed the dog away, getting off of the floor and setting the dish down before Vancouver suspected him of trying to steal his food.

He just patted Vancouver's back while the dog ate all of the food like he hadn't eaten in days, and then licked the dish clean, following the skidding bowl across the room and stopping at the opposite wall.

When he was fairly certain Vancouver was done eating, Galen picked up the empty bowl that was now coated in dog slime. Vancouver licked his chops, begging with his eyes for seconds. Of course Galen didn't notice him while he rinsed off the bowl.

Later when he took his pills, he accidentally swallowed them instead of pretending to. It took every ounce of reserve until he could finally go to his room and try to cough up the pills into his pillow.

He had to use his fingers, and then he managed get the pills out, nearly losing his thin meal in the process. Eyes watering and temporarily queasy, he touched the dissolved mess of pills on his pillow. A dirty shirt on the floor made a decent rage to wipe it off, hoping it wouldn't stain. He couldn't know if the evidence showed, but at least he wasn't medicated tonight.

"Couver," Galen whispered, patting the space beside him. Vancouver didn't respond at first, because he was trained not to jump on furniture, but finally came up because his master told him to. Galen took his time unbuckling Vancouver's harness, and then rubbed Vancouver's belly until his arms were too tired to continue. He cupped Vancouver's muzzle so the dog couldn't pull away when he kissed the top of his head, rubbed him once last time, and whispered praise and apologies when he urged Vancouver off of the bed again.

Vancouver just flopped down next to the bed with a sigh, sure to be dreaming doggy dreams soon. He already loved that dog. Couver never demanded anything from him.

Galen settled down slowly, still wired from his trip out with Fred. Her friends were a little strange, but very friendly. Certainly not as strange as the people he had to live with! He'd almost feel better if they were – if they all understood what it was like to be stripped of control. Stomach pumps, medicine, counselors and doctors invading every inch of their lives. No one here had their right to privacy here.

He wondered what they would think of him if they knew what a group home really meant. It wasn't like Dawn living with her sister in an environment where they all respected and knew each other. With so many strangers, it wasn't fun at all. Rachel was right – he was just as mental as she was. He didn't hear voices, sure, but Rachel had her good days and her bad days, same as him.

It took longer to fall asleep without tranquilizers, but at least he could dream. Dreams were the only place where he could remember what the world used to look like.


	12. Dreaming in Parallel

**A/N: Hello guys. Thanks for the lovely reviews! It's the feedback that gives me the most satisfaction from writing this. Kudos to Arret for betaing and betaing and knowing when to let it slip and when to kick me in the shin.**

**Little kids... little kids go away, you're not allowed to read this. Seriously.**

**Mature adult persons go ahead.**

* * *

The music of the moon always drove her to dance. She could never resist the divine temptation to let herself move to the spirals in her head. At any time of day, she could be found swaying to the abrasive, supernal music in her mind. It was the night that drove her internal orchestra to a fervent passion. 

That was why she had thrust open the windows of their summer home as soon as they retired to bed, crooning and reaching out for the moon as a sunflower yearns for the sun. It seemed that the moonlight rejuvenated her more than the blood that still stained her sheer white dress.

Her slender body made a ghostly shape in the semi-darkness. The shadows blended against the moon's pale light, wrapping her curves in a luminescent glow. The soft lighting made her porcelain skin look even more delicate. There was nothing in the world he would rather lay eyes on than this breathtaking enchantress.

Long fingers weaved an intricate web in the air, as though pulling on strings of dust.

"The night scolds the flowers to sleep," she sang with a soft giggle, as if it amused her. "Now is the time for bad children to sin." She cast him a wicked look, dark eyes glistening like puddles of gasoline.

He wet his lips in anticipation, purposefully letting his tongue linger on his bottom lip, while running his eyes down her lithe body. When he met her face again, she had a mischievous grin and a flicker of something intense and predatory behind her doe eyes.

"Such a naughty boy," she teased, her lean fingers playing across the whisper-thin material of her dress. For about as much common sense as a corkscrew, she had a knack for being enticing. She was fully aware of the fact that her gown did not hide any of her female curves. All that it managed to do was hide the dark flush of her aroused skin.

"You knew that all along," he answered in a rasping tone, unable to pull his stare away from the suggestive swivel of her hips.

"Mommy's little wolf," she growled and snapped her jaws closed.

Just watching her made his breath quicken, thinking of where he'd love to bite back. He mimicked her, beckoning her with the action.

She giggled in delight and then stopped suddenly, putting her hands to her ears. A shiver suddenly swept through her. She closed her eyes, pulling and twisting her long, dark hair with whimpering groans.

He immediately sat up and went to her, pulling gently at her arms, but the groans grew louder, like a child's tantrum to be left alone. There was no sense in upsetting her, and her outbursts were generally short-lived, so he decided not to interfere. Sitting back, he waited patiently for the fit to die away on its own.

As her long red nails clawed at her own breasts, he regretted indulging in her wish to sharpen them.

The flimsy gown shredded easily under her tearing nails, and then she began to dig into the soft flesh of her breasts as well.

"Mad pony chants pretty pearls of deception," she babbled, pulling at her tattered dress. Blood started to flow lethargically from her self-inflicted wounds, staining the white material as it fell from her body. A section gave way with an audible rip when she tore out the seam. She then sliced down the center of her chest, eyes fluttering.

It seemed the pain calmed her, or perhaps the blood sang her a song. Either way, she was soon purring as sweet as a kitten once more, eagerly squirming out of the ruined gown.

Nude, she stood before him like a defiant, lascivious goddess. The mere sight of her made his mouth water desperately for a taste. As if she could feel his hunger inside of her, she finally slithered onto the bed. He heard her coo out something, but couldn't catch the words as his vision turned hazy with lust. Her nails dug painfully into her back of his head when she grabbed him by the hair and pulled him toward her breast. The first touch of tender flesh against his mouth was exquisite. His tongue sought out the source of blood single-mindedly, while her high-pitched wails of pleasure rang in his ears.

At some point, soft moans replaced the wailing. Although the new noises were more pleasurable for him, he didn't like the subdued sounds. Her weight shifted against him, and he pulled her down to the bed. Barely half a second passed, and his mouth was on her again. He didn't take the quickest route to satisfying her, choosing instead to push up one thigh and start tenderly kissing the warm skin.

A sound of ecstasy slipped from her throat when he sucked hard, leaving a red mark on her skin. It was a game for him suddenly, to kiss, lick, suck, and bite her. He won points if he could find those certain spots that made her cry out in pleasure. The only rules were, he couldn't give her exactly what she wanted until she begged him for it.

There were so many of those spots along the inside of her gorgeous thighs, it really wasn't fair for her. Giving the golden skin a nip goodbye, he moved along to sensuously torture her soft sides. He could feel her pulse against his lips. It only took a few seconds to find another spot where she was especially receptive to his kisses. Mercilessly, he attacked it, driving his tongue against that specific spot until she couldn't stop giggling.

Moving on, he started laving a path over her stomach with his tongue, but she seemed disinterested with the game now. Pulling gently on his head, she brought him up to face her. Maybe she didn't understand the game? Or maybe she didn't want to play right then. Soft green eyes stared at him, and he realized that she couldn't possibly be displeased with him in any way.

Her hands were on the back of his head, blunt nails scratching him with a pleasant way. Gripping him tightly, she pulled him down for a kiss, lips crushing possessively against his mouth. A groan escaped him just from her hot tongue in his mouth. Her hands ran down his back, caressing his vulnerable skin. The feel of her fingers on his wounded back made him shudder suddenly, taken by surprise.

The kiss broke, and she was still running her hands over his skin. Shivers ran over him, but she pulled him down again, this time taking his weight onto her. He didn't understand what she was doing, but he was compliant for her. He brought up his hand to touch her golden hair and twist a strand around his finger, mesmerized by the color. While he played with the silky locks, she kissed his neck unhurriedly and traced every line and tense muscle in his back with her fingertips. Finally, all of the anxiety left him and she whispered something into his neck, an endearment that he didn't quite catch, but it didn't matter. He finally realized what she'd been doing all along, and she had won.

* * *

_The heat is going to burn me alive_, Buffy thought dizzily, pulling at her shirt collar. It stuck to her skin in the most uncomfortable way, clinging to a layer of sweat. 

It wasn't only the heat that had her bothered, but the humidity as well. She could only hope that it would get hot enough to set off a thunderstorm later in the day and cool everything down. Right now she could barely _breathe_ with the air so thick.

For a rare moment, Buffy was seriously tempted to take off her shirt to cool down a bit more.

"Go on, then," a familiar male voice coaxed, reading her mind as easily as if she'd spoken aloud. She didn't really have to look his way to know it was a certain blue-eyed devil. Buffy did dart a look, however. Sure enough, there he was. She caught an eyeful of bare skin and had to double-take, staring at his lean, shirtless body.

"After all," he continued, casually scratching his side while Buffy watched his muscles flex. "It's only fair. No reason why you should suffer in this heat."

"I don't want you to see my bra," Buffy answered with a touch of annoyance. She also felt as if she really wanted him to challenge that remark.

"No one else around," he countered in turn, sauntering over to her. A bead of sweat dripped from his chest, losing velocity as it slowly ran over his abs. "And even then, if you think about it, you'd still be more modestly dressed than me."

She was barely thinking about his words, other than how his accent made her even hotter. The same bit of sweat continued on its journey until it was caught in a bit of fur that grew below his navel. Buffy weirdly envied that drop of moisture. She wanted to lick it away for him, and then do the same to the sweat on his neck.

If he knew her thoughts, he didn't mention it this time, except for that damn knowing smile. He was so smug, so evil and just so… unbelievably sexy. He couldn't have devised a crueler, more tempting display.

"Like what you see, pet?" His thumb brushed her forehead, wiping away a trickle of sweat and then rubbed against her lips, letting her taste the salt on his fingertips.

_Let's see… hot, half-naked Spike with his muscles all… exposed, glistening and sexy? Hell yes_. Buffy remained silent, nipping the pad of his thumb with her teeth.

Another smile spread across his face, making his eyes crinkle in the most delightful way. It was ordinary and more mature than when he used to wear leather. It made her want him even more, if that was possible.

Deliberately, Buffy held his gaze and peeled off her damp shirt. Before she could even toss away the shirt, his hands were on her skin, cool against her heated flesh. His hands ran over all of her bare skin, as if laying claim to her.

Panting from the temperature and his touch, Buffy wrapped her hands around his neck and then licked the sensitive spot under his jaw, where blood pulsed. The resulting tremble in his muscles from that small action made Buffy smile and run her hands over his back.

One hand found the soft mound of her breast and squeezed, causing her to shudder now. Buffy arched her back in pleasure and made a mewling noise of encouragement when his thumb circled her nipple and then stroked across it. _He always knows how to touch me_ _just_ _right_, she thought, mind reeling with pleasure. She drove herself against him, grinding against his hip.

_Need you so bad_, Buffy groaned urgently in her head, but it only came out as a pant against his neck.

A louder moan of surprise escaped her when she felt his cool lips against her neck. He sucked on her skin, mimicking her by finding her pulse and quickened it with a flickering tongue. The strap on her bra was slipping off of her shoulder by now. She was about ready to burst with pleasure, if only… if only she could get enough stimulation…. She needed him so _badly_, right here and now.

_Please, take me. I can't stand this… can't you see… I'm dying…. _

His mouth laved kisses down her neck and Buffy threw her head back, offering herself to him. _Please, just--_

"YES!" she cried out in a strangled voice when he suckled the sensitive side of her breast. It was sure to leave a mark later, and the thought made her slick with arousal. "Don't stop", she pulled his head towards her, commanding him to continue, to mark her everywhere.

Hips bucking, eager for relief, Buffy thanked every god and goddess she knew of when his knee pushed between her legs. Her skirt rode up, unresisting, and she immediately bucked against his firm thigh. Color exploded behind her closed eyes, just from the exquisite pressure against her clit. She knew she was close, fingernails digging into the back of his h---

Buffy jumped awake to the horrendous sound of pots crashing.

For a moment her eyes were blinded as the blood rushed around in her head, ears ringing, heart pounding. A sheen of sweat covered her mostly bare body, and now a cold chill came over her. She sat rigidly for a couple seconds, and then heard softer, domestic clanking, and no other disturbances.

It took another second to remember that, firstly, she no longer lived on the Hellmouth, so demon threats were less likely, and secondly, all three of her housemates were complete klutzes. With that in mind, she laid back down, noticing that in her sleep, she had wound herself against one of her pillows, and still had the bottom half of said pillow clenched between her thighs.

Silently and very angrily, Buffy cursed whoever had broken her sleep. There was no way she could fall asleep again, or that she could get up this aroused… and why bother, when she was in such a nice position?

She closed her eyes and wound herself around the pillow again, trying to quickly grab the dream before it faded away completely. There was no way that the soft cotton reminded her of Spike's hard body anymore, but she still tried to picture him and his lips - the way he made her feel.

_Spike's accent was always a turn-on, somehow rough and smooth at the same time. He always knew that he could get me hot, just from telling me how beautiful I was in that sultry tone that could make anything sound dirty._ It still made itself present from time to time, in Galen. _Spike, Galen, or William… I don't care. He's my guy. I wonder how Galen would react if he could understand who I was, and how well I knew every inch of him. If he could somehow get all of Spike's memories back of the times when we'd had sex, would he drop the pretenses? Or would he still duck his chin and blush?_ She shivered and dug her fingers into the pillow, supposing that 'shy' was the new 'coy'.

If only she could get him undressed…. Her mouth watered just thinking of Spike's ivory skin. But she had dreamed him having a human flush and pulse, beads of sweat dripping off of his body. Even if he never remembered, she could seduce him again, and be ready for him. She could train him to play all of the right spots on her body, where to kiss, lick, or suck when he wanted to push her over the edge.

Buffy squeezed her thighs together, rocking against the pillow for stimulation.

Those spots had been a secret even to herself, until Spike had laid her down and unhurriedly sought out every last one. Even though she had been the one bucking beneath him, it still seemed to have been more for his pleasure than hers.

Biting down on the pillow, she let out a muffled whimper at the memory of the tender night. Her hips ground even more firmly against the soft cotton, seeking more pressure against her sex.

She remembered how he'd laughed in glee every time he found a spot that drove her absolutely crazy. The inside of her left foot, for instance, was susceptible to his teasing lips. By the time he finally addressed her throbbing need, she had been sopping wet and _pulsing_ for him. It was all worth it for the final payoff – Spike lapping up her juices as if it sustained his life, fingers thrusting inside her, the sweet, overwhelming sensation of his tongue finally finding her clit-

Her inner muscles spasmed and thighs clamped together as she yielded to her orgasm. Buffy bit off a moan, and hunched absently against the pillow, focused solely on getting as much pleasure as possible.

The contractions finally died away, and then the afterglow as her head slowly cleared.

Thoughts of Spike and sex flitted through her head for a while until she finally came back to earth. She sat up, feeling more alert now and able to start the day. She noticed with a flush and a snicker that she had left a damp spot on the pillow.

"Need to wash you, I guess," Buffy said, picking up the pillow and shaking it out of its casing. _Right after I take a shower_, she added and laughed aloud at the thought that she had basically just raped an innocent, defenseless pillow. Poor thing.

* * *

The first touch of wakefulness was the fact that the pillow under his head was a bit damp. He lifted his head groggily and wiped at the cool, damp spot on his pillow, realizing with a touch of dismay that he'd probably been laying face-first in drool. 

_That's great_. Galen pushed himself up and out of bed, almost stepping on Vancouver in the process.

Couver watched his master go, staying silent, and finally laid his head back down in disinterest.

On his way to the kitchen, Galen just about smacked into the wall. That was a typical occurrence, however. He didn't even feel it; he just ran his fingers along the wall, continuing until his knee cracked into the side of the stove.

_Maybe that's why they don't let me cook_, Galen thought, although he already knew it was. He could judge by the chill of the one-floor building, and the complete darkness in his limited sight, that it had to be early morning. And he was already up, like a zombie, feeling around for the bagels, the peanut butter, and a plastic spoon (to substitute the utter and necessary lack of knives.)

Galen kept his hip pressed firmly against the counter, for reference, while he pulled apart the pre-sliced bagel. The toaster was nearby, and Galen let the bagel toast for a minute while he opened the jar. After wiping his hand over the counter to make sure it was clean, he set the hot slices down on the counter. He scooped up some peanut butter on the backside of the spoon and then started to apply it to the bagel.

The biggest issue with being blind was that when it came to food, he ended up getting messy. He had to keep his hand wrapped around the whole bagel so he could tell where it was, and ended up getting smears of peanut butter on his fingers. Since he couldn't tell how evenly the peanut butter had been applied, he had to poke at it, and ended up licking his hands clean several times.

Aside from the smooth flavor of the melting peanut butter, Galen could detect a tangy flavor of something that lingered on his lips, mostly where he had bitten them raw already.

It made him think of his dream, which was a vague fog in his mind by now. As much as he knew, it was about an attractive woman who also happened to be a bit mad. _But who isn't mad?_ He remembered the blood, and how, weirdly enough, it had been more appealing on it's own than the thought of having sex with the unknown woman.

That was just his luck, to be more attracted to blood, or strands of hair, than the option of unhindered sex. Any other male would have at least had some sort of reaction to the dream, but it didn't even leave him half-hard. _Maybe I'm broken_, Galen thought a bit miserably, feeling cheated.

But then, the crazy lady wasn't all that appealing anyway, and thinking back… the dream had ended with a different woman altogether. He hadn't noticed it at the time, but now he could recognize a stark difference between the dark-haired, frenzied woman and the softer female whose hair and skin were shades of gold. Although both had their appeal, he liked the one in the end so much more. It was the way she touched him, he decided. He'd been given too many meaningless touches from the doctors. It was really discouraging that the only person who'd treated him like he was there was a figment of his imagination.

The blonde girl almost made him feel like he knew her somehow. Maybe she'd been a real lover to him, someone he couldn't remember. If she was real – and the idea of her nonexistence made him ache with despair – he would like to meet her again. He was beginning to question the existence of sexual pleasure, but if he had her, or any nice girlfriend, it wouldn't matter to him. He could learn how to kiss properly, and where it was most pleasurable for her to be touched. All he really needed in return was a little love and for her to be happy.

By the time he was dwelling on those last thoughts, he had both bagels done, fingers licked clean, and was taking the first bite out of his snack.

He heard the soft thump of footsteps, too heavy to be Rachel. There was a muffled yawn but the calmness in the house lingered, even while the other person started to get orange juice. Galen could tell it was Eamon right away, just from the undisturbed atmosphere.

"You have blood on your cheek," Eamon told Galen in a drowsy voice, before he took a paper towel and dampened it at the sink, wiping away the smears of drying blood in a motherly way. He spotted a scabbing spot on Galen's lip where he must've bitten through and dabbed at it before tossing out the paper towel.

"What're you doing up this early?" Eamon finally asked, as he reached over and tied up the bagels and put away the peanut butter on autopilot.

"Eatin' bagels," Galen replied in the same low voice, still licking at his lip. "What are you doing up?"

"You woke me up," Eamon retorted, although he didn't seem to care too much.

Galen snorted softly. "Did not."

"You smacked into the stove. Clumsy bastard."

"I'm blind, arsewit."

"God gave you fingers, the doctors gave you a cane, and the state of California gave you a seeing-eye dog."

"Couver is a lazy mutt," Galen answered flippantly, taking the second half of the bagel to the living room – where they technically weren't supposed to eat – so he could privately devour the peanut-buttery goodness.

"You're just a lazy cunt," Eamon muttered in reply, sipping at his orange juice. He wrinkled his nose at proof of his claim, spotting Galen's used spoon, and tossed it into the sink.

* * *

Showered and dressed, Buffy finally came out into the kitchen, where Willow, Kennedy, and Dawn were already having a pancake breakfast. 

"We made you some," Dawn told her when she noticed Buffy's slightly jealous look.

Buffy smiled at the quick statement and Kennedy scooped some pancakes onto a plate before nudging it in the other slayer's direction.

"They look yummy," Buffy commented, wrinkling her nose more in amusement at the nearly black pancake, and then helped herself to the syrup and a fork.

"Did I wake you, earlier?" Willow asked when she turned off the stove. She didn't seem to notice that Buffy was giving her a hateful glare. "I dropped a whole bunch of pots and pans on the floor when we were getting out the frying pan," she actually giggled. "It made such a racket!"

_Can't kill Willow,_ Buffy reminded herself. _Willow is my friend. I'll get her back one of these days, when she and Kennedy are having noisy daytime sex_. Because countless times she had come home to the sounds of Willow or Kennedy crying out in pleasure. They always seemed to think that no one came home during the day, and Buffy always snuck around as not to disturb them, sometimes leaving if things got a little too graphic for her to handle.

On the other hand… Buffy had a depressing sex life, and no boyfriend. Willow would probably be just as invisible if she walked in to hear sex noises from Buffy's bedroom.

Kennedy wouldn't, though! She'd probably fling open the door and tell them to get a room, or make some crude comment about whether or not she thought they were doing it right….

There was almost a pointed silence, only broken by forks on plates while they ate. Willow kissed Kennedy once before they both started eating their pancakes.

Dawn looked like she wanted to break the silence a few times, but couldn't find any words.

_This is the morning after_, Buffy thought wearily as she finally chewed on the last piece of her breakfast. She set her fork down onto her plate and folded her arms, looking over at Dawn, who was also done eating and not doing anything.

Willow and Kennedy were both finishing up, and the Wiccan was looking around a bit uneasily, knowing that the tension must be broken.

"I…" Buffy opened her mouth before she really knew what she wanted to say. "…I saw Spike in person last night. Was that a dream…?"

"You're not crazy," Dawn said, understanding what her sister meant. "We all saw him."

There was a moment when they all passed around nervous smiles, sharing the same, strange vibe of disbelief.

"I'm sorry," Willow said to Buffy after a moment.

"About what?" Buffy blinked, actually hoping Willow didn't realize exactly what she'd done when she dropped those pans….

"I still haven't gotten into the hospital server," Willow told her, and Buffy gave a mental sigh of relief, at the same time disappointed by the news. "But I definitely know now that they operate on a closed network."

Buffy stared incredulously, not falling for Willow's sheepish don't-hate-me smile. "This is a _hospital_. You really think they keep their files on the internet, open to every hacker?"

"Well, I was checking for back doors," Willow protested a bit. "Anyway, I could _definitely_ hack into their system if I could just get access to one of their computers. They'd have them at the front desk, and at every nurse's station, the entrance to every wing of the hospital."

Buffy knew what Willow was suggesting, and shook her head. "I can't, Will. It'll take a while to scope out which ones are most vulnerable and left unattended, and I can't do that. I don't have free reign to wander all through the hospital as it is, and worse, I'm not even going to be inside of the hospital for the next whatever days."

"What do you mean?" Willow looked alarmed. "I thought they assigned a wing?"

"I'm assigned a sector of the grounds, now," Buffy replied. "I'm going to be outside one of the hospital entrances, and in charge of enforcing safety for the parking lot that surrounds that area. Which is okay, in a way, since I won't be in contact with my supervisors as much. If only there was a computer right _there_. I could sneak you in no problem."

"Well, short of trying to become a nurse, I guess I can't do anything for a while, then," Willow sighed. "Unless I pull magics."

"Don't strain yourself, Willow," Buffy answered immediately. "It's not that big of a deal. I mean, Spike – or Galen, or whoever – he's going to be coming back to the Hyperion a lot more often, hopefully."

"Do you think he's human?" Dawn asked hopefully.

"I… I dunno," Buffy shrugged. "Short of checking for a pulse, Angel's the one who'll be able to tell for sure. And he doesn't know yet."

"Angel told me once that all things said and done, he was glad you and Spike got together," Dawn told her sister. "Because it changed him for the better, in the end. He thinks you're a saint or something. _Boy,_ do you have _him _fooled!"

"Angel said this?" Buffy asked.

"Straight from the dead guy's mouth," Dawn pledged.

"All that matters right now is that Spike's alive," Kennedy said to Buffy. "Lucky bitch. The setback is that he doesn't remember shit, and no matter how much you lust after him, he doesn't even know who you are."

"Wow, that was clarifying, and also scathing," Buffy gave Kennedy a displeased look.

"And he's blind," Dawn added, flinching when Buffy glared at her as well. "I'm just pointing out things that we do know."

"That shouldn't mean anything," Willow said, more soothingly. "As long as you love him."

"I don't know how to make him like me," Buffy sighed, feeling hopeless once again, despite the achingly wonderful dream she'd had half an hour ago. "It seems like he's ten times more likely to fall in love with Fred than me."

"Because she's been there for him a lot more," Dawn pointed out. "We _just_ saw him. He'd totally dig you more."

"The key is just to spend time with him," Willow advised. "And don't even bother with the silly seducing crud. Just, uh, be good friends with him, and if it's love, it'll grow naturally."

"Or you can chase after him until he caves in to your sexual advances," Kennedy suggested wickedly, nipping on Willow's earlobe.

Willow blushed, lips twitching into a smile. "Only bad girls go for that, Ken," she teased lightly.

* * *

"This sucks," Buffy muttered aloud, but only when she was absolutely alone. A second later a middle-aged man came out of the hospital doors behind her, followed by a woman who looked about four months pregnant. They each went their separate ways to their respective vehicles, the woman climbing into the passenger seat of a car and talking to a man that could easily be her husband. 

Well, it didn't suck too bad. But really, it was pretty dull. People came and went, sometimes smiling pleasantly, the older folks nodding in respect to her, and she acknowledged them in return. A couple times the open, talkative sort called out to her as if they'd known her their whole lives. As first they freaked her out, but she soon learned how to smile back and respond just as boldly.

_Lunch break should be soon_, Buffy found herself thinking, and then did a mental double-take at her forgetfulness. She'd just _had _her lunch break. A mental groan. Today was going to take forever to get over with.

"Wonderful weather today," a man said to her, dressed sharply – probably a doctor – as he walked briskly towards the door.

"Sure is," Buffy replied, almost automatically, quickly pushing the automatic doors for him.

"Ah, thanks!" he smiled and gave her something like a salute before he went into the hospital.

_That was weird_, Buffy couldn't contain a funny smile, amused by the fading sounds of him _whistling_. She squelched the urge to giggle, although she was alone again. Scratch that – there was another person coming towards the open doors-

She stopped dead for a second, and then quickly jabbed the button again as the automatic doors threatened to close.

"I've got it for you," she called out, when Galen seemed confused about the doors opening on their own. She was practically vibrating in restrained excitement.

"Oh," Galen still sounded a bit confused, and Vancouver halted at the edge of the sidewalk as a green car cruised by. "Thanks. Is there a white car waiting around…?"

"Mmm, no," Buffy scanned the parking lot quickly. "Just a couple parked ones, and they're empty."

"Crap. Thanks," he started to take out his cell phone.

"Uh, I'm Buffy," she said quickly, since he obviously couldn't tell her from her voice alone. "You know, we met last night?"

"Oh!" he nodded and lowered his phone. "You told me you worked here, right? The emergency room story…" he chuckled, a pleasing sound to her ears. "That was funny. Not the story, really, but the way you guys told it."

"Yeah," Buffy laughed nervously. "Giles being all denial guy."

"Good thing is wasn't serious," Galen added. "So you're on duty?"

"Uh, yeah," Buffy couldn't help by grin, as some random people came out and walked around them. She was thinking about Willow's apology, and about how uneventful she thought work was going to be. "I'm on grounds patrol for a few days. Tomorrow I'll be somewhere else, though. Not here."

"I won't be here either," Galen added in a conspiring tone, with a twitch of a smile. "You shoot anyone yet?"

"Uh, I don't have a gun license yet," Buffy told him. "So I don't carry any weapons yet, just cuffs. But between you and me, I don't need a gun, or a baton, or anything yet. If anyone needed a beating, I could serve one up no problem. Bad guys, step in line."

"Tough, confident girls are hot," Galen remarked, coming towards her. Flashes of her dream danced through Buffy's brain until she realized that Galen was just minimizing the amount of space they were taking up in front of the doorway.

"So, uh, why are you here?" Buffy asked, and then immediately kicked herself for it. It had been drilling into her brain enough time about patient confidentiality, and Galen was obviously a patient.

"Was seeing Dr. Sutton. I think that she must have a crush on me for something," he said, conspiring once again. It was a bad habit that had rubbed off on him from people like Rachel. "I come here every once in a while – once a week, I think – and she insists on a physical. I think that she just likes to see me undressed-" Buffy's imagination put images to those words "-And to poke me full of holes," he added, rubbing his sore arm with a grimace.

"You got a shot?" Buffy asked, not feeling very professional anymore, and she was supposed to be on duty for chrissakes.

"Yep. Every time."

"If you don't mind me asking," Buffy tagged that on, to be safe, "What is it for?"

For a moment she was afraid he wouldn't answer, but then she realized that Galen was jus confused. "I don't know," he finally answered truthfully.

"You… they don't tell you?"

"They tell me."

"But you don't know. Or you don't want to tell me. Which is okay, because I'm not entitled to ask at all, and you could just tell me to-"

"It's okay. I just don't remember."

Buffy chewed on her lip for a second, and then avidly watched an elderly woman exit the hospital, her husband's hand in hers. They looked just fine, so she let them pass by without offering assistance. "I know it's not my place, but… isn't it kind of wrong to receive shots and not know what they're for?"

"I know it's for something important, I just forgot," Galen said, a bit plaintively. "But my memory is complete shit now. As bad as my attention span. They could be treating me for AIDS for all I know."

The thought gave Buffy the heebie jeebies for a second, but it passed. "Or Alzheimer's," Buffy added teasingly, proud of herself when she provoked a laugh.

"That's very likely," he finally said, sounding serious although light-hearted.

There was that strange touch of normalcy and maturity that Buffy was finding attractive, and not in a pounce-and-tear-his-clothes-off way, just a relaxed, I-could-spend-eternity-with-this-man kind of feeling. She knew that she never actually felt that way about anyone before, so the whole mature woman thing was a freaky concept, and also exciting.

"Will we be seeing you tonight?" Buffy asked.

He detected a hush of anticipation in her voice, and it made him smile and feel a bit egotistical. "Yeah." _That was lame_. But he smiled despite himself, uncaring.

Buffy smiled as well, especially when he let out a small giggle of amusement. "So, I am curious. What is the real reason why you wear sunglasses?"

He rocked on his feet for a moment, making a noise of indecision in the back of his throat while he thought it over. "Because I can't see things. I can't make eye contact with you, except by accident. Some people are put off by it. If I wear glasses, then when I talk to someone they'll think that I'm making eye contact with them. It's very good, especially when I really am bored out of my mind by them."

"Ah, I see. Do I bore you?"

"Nah. If I was bored by you, I would be calling Brenda, not talking to you."

"You know, I don't mind if you can't make eye contact," she told him, stepping a bit closer to him. "I find it stranger for someone to constantly wear dark glasses."

"I only take them off at night," Galen told her in a suddenly hushed voice, feeling her closeness. She wasn't the first to ask him to remove his glasses, but he often loathed having to remove them for someone. In fact, the only people who had seen him with his glasses off were Eamon and Rachel, when they had snuck into his room late at night. Her implied request made his touch of confidence shrivel in shyness, because now he felt naked if he didn't have his glasses on.

"Just for a moment?" Buffy tried to tempt him. "You're really quite handsome. But they're like a big censor bar, you know? I'd like to just see what you really look like without them, if only for a second."

"I'm sorry," Galen shifted uncomfortably.

"I understand," Buffy said when she realized she wouldn't get her way.

"I wouldn't mind so much, if I knew you better," Galen added. "Maybe in the future, I would."

"Okay," Buffy nodded quickly, trying not to smile. Hopefully by then the glasses wouldn't be the only things coming off.


	13. Lateralism

**Disclaimer: Joss owns, I manipulate.**

* * *

Television was a rare allowance; only a few hours a day in the midst of stimulating coping methods, like exciting journal-keeping, playing cards or coloring pictures. Group work had waned out, and only Eamon and Addison found real pleasure in playing cards. 

The station was tuned to a horror movie that had been edited enough to pass as PG-13, except for the bloodshed. It wasn't so much scary as it was funny to watch the actors run around screaming. Obviously, Galen was the only one who couldn't find much pleasure in that. So when he came out from his shower with his hair still soft and damp, and settled on the couch between Eamon and Rachel, at Rachel's insistence, he was only able to keep a mild interest in the unusual sounds he was hearing.

The shift was so gradual that Eamon didn't notice until Galen's full weight sank against him, abusing their friendship to use him as some sort of overstuffed pillow. A few moments later and the pale, slender man had fallen asleep to the sound of gunfire and selectively edited dialogue.

Addison did not comment on this, just shared a look of amusement with Eamon, bemused by how Galen had managed to fall asleep at all, folded into such a strange position on the couch. Rachel could not tell if she was more envious over Galen falling asleep on Eamon's shoulder and not hers or that Eamon was letting Galen get away with it.

She testingly extended her arm and rubbed her fingers across Galen's firm stomach, covered by a thin layer of cotton. She felt his muscles shift as he stretched. He gave a small, whining sound that set her insides to Jell-O and made her want to do things that would surely set back months of 'progress'. But damn, he was too irresistible. He couldn't possibly be sleeping, and yet, knowing how damn innocent Galen was, he probably _was_ fast asleep. It only made her want to get him in bed even more. He would be a mass of quivering nerves, responsive to the touch, and eager for her to guide him. He would feel so damn _good_; ivory-colored skin that would be so soft and smooth, covering muscles and bones underneath that were like liquid steel. He would be too thin and pale, but she didn't care about any of that. He would not be able to reserve himself, making those delicious noises when he came.

The werewolves were clearly winning on screen, and Eamon was a bit irritated to be disturbed by Dunstan's presence. The man was so vapid, like Addison, but at least the kid could play a good game of cards and didn't act like a stuck-up bitch. He didn't even care that Dunstan was there – after all, all of their rooms connected to the living room, and it couldn't be helped – but the man just _stood_ there, staring. Staring at….

"What in God's name are you doing?"

Eamon dropped his hand from Galen's hair, feeling like he was fourteen years old, getting caught by his father again. He thought he knew what Dunstan meant, simultaneously turning to make sure Galen was still sleeping while ready to tell Dunstan to bite him, when he stopped. He was wrong. Rachel was leaning towards Galen slightly, her hand disappearing under Galen's scrunched-up shirt, and, please, don't let it be….

Her eyes snatch up to look at Eamon guiltily, still radiating lust. Her psychosis might have somehow short-circuited her ability to feel ashamed, because she didn't even blink as she carefully removed her hand. Eamon stared at her, hoping that her hand had only been under his shirt, or had at least appeared that way, because clearly she'd been trying to sneak her paws somewhere they didn't belong.

Galen shuddered beside Eamon, but didn't wake.

"How does a guy who only eats pudding and never works out keep tight abs?" Rachel asked, trying to change the subject.

"Leave his abs alone," Eamon warned her firmly.

"I can't help that your boyfriend is so hot," Rachel said, as if it were really all his fault.

"No good can come out of this kind of this sinful behavior," Dunstan left the room, undoubtedly to tell tales to Brenda about love triangles.

"See what you did?" Eamon hissed. "We could get canned."

"I'm _sorry_," Rachel emphasized. "It's not like I can help it. I don't usually not in a situation of _having_ to resist."

"_This_ isn't right," Eamon said, referring to taking advantage of Galen. "He isn't some twenty-three year old young buck, up for a one-night stand. He's probably got a wife or a girl missing him."

"What if he's got a boyfriend?"

"Then he'd have a boyfriend worried for him. The point is you don't even stop to consider it."

"I don't stop to consider a lot of things; that's why it's called an addiction," Rachel said fiercely, eyes burning.

Galen shifted between them with a mumble, causing them both to fall completely silent. "Dunn… don't you do that. Hmm?" Brenda came into the living room, a flutter of activity, scanning for any defects. Galen shoved on Eamon when he sensed the commotion, blue eyes roaming aimlessly.

"Hands to yourselves," Brenda chided, and Eamon slid further into the corner of the couch so that his body was no longer pressed against Galen's. Galen shivered from the loss of Eamon's nice, warm body heat. It was nice to snuggle into, and _no_, that did not make him gay ––

"And this," Brenda tsked, picking up the remote as she watched the TV for a moment, full of God-knows what. Galen could make out snarling and gunfire and yelling and a lot of what could be the sound of blood spraying everywhere. "You really shouldn't be watching things like this. You don't really want to lose the TV altogether, do you?"

"The movie's almost over," Eamon pointed out calmly.

"There are better things to watch on TV than this," Brenda remained resolved, flipping to the Lifetime channel. Tranquility washed over her and she smiled resolutely at what was deemed "better" TV in her mind.

"Hey," Galen protested as the chaotic noise shifted to near-silence with some sort of dramatic confrontation going on. "I was watching that."

"No, you were sleeping," Brenda replied.

"Yeah, well, it soothed me."

"You should sleep in your own bed, as well," Brenda said. "That's rule number seven."

"You just made up that rule, didn't you?" Addison said doubtfully.

"Look, I doubt that a werewolf movie is going to trigger anyone," Rachel said. "Lifetime, on the other hand, really gets me going. The movies are all about domestic violence, orphans, drug abuse, and rape. The last time I watched this channel I had to have stitches."

"I wanna find out who dies," Galen added.

Brenda looked extremely displeased, but grudgingly gave the remote to Eamon. "When the movie's over, _please_ choose something that isn't violent."

Eamon nodded and flipped the channel over to the movie again, much to Rachel's very real relief.

Galen settled against the couch, listening to the ongoing slaughter with an appreciative ear. "What's she got against violence, anyway? This is extremely educational."

"Better than chick flicks," Addison put in.

"Hell, anything's better than a chick flick," Rachel stated. She pretended to hold an interest in the film, but when she snuck a glance at Galen, Eamon was glaring at her, silently warning her to never try anything like that again.

* * *

Seated on the couch in the lobby of the Hyperion, Willow typed rapidly into her laptop, windows and encrypted files flickering by. 

Kennedy quietly observed the progress over her girlfriend's shoulder. She was stupefied by the insane amounts of jumbled letters and numbers passing by. "I can't believe you understand all of that computer jargon."

"Jargon?" Dawn repeated. "Like 'lol'?"

"That's slang. This is more like HTML," Fred corrected. "Programming languages. But that's just basic stuff."

"Could you get into those files?" Angel asked Fred quietly.

Fred gave him a look that told him he was being ridiculous. "I'm a scientist, not a computer hacker. Willow is light-years beyond my mojo. But if you need to figure out a physics problem, let me know."

"You're also quite good at mechanics," Wesley pointed out.

Fred shrugged, trying to suppress a blushing smile. "Well, I did take engineering courses. But only for a couple years."

"I can't find it," Willow said allowed, sounding a little frustrated. She didn't lose focus on the screen, however.

"It's not there?" Buffy questioned.

"It might be," Willow furrowed her brow in concentration. "My theory was, I'd know it if I found it. But I didn't run into anything that looked promising. I don't think I will."

"And the plot thickens," Xander proclaimed in a dramatic tone. "I always wonder; how could one thicken a plot? After all, a plot is just a concept. It's not like it's a delicious stew or anything."

"It's a figure of speech, Xander, let it go," Cordelia suggested.

Buffy moved closer to Willow's computer, hoping to get some insight, but it was just meaningless garbage to her as well. She couldn't begin to figure out how people managed to work with the things, and so she hoped her exposure to the technology would be minimal in life. Willow was really a godsend. Or a goddess-send…. Whatever.

"That's not magic, is it?" Buffy questioned, watching Willow's fingers flying across the keyboard.

"No," Willow's voice was shaky. "Although I might need magic to make this work. I'm kind of unsure about zapping myself into their server, although I'm sorely tempted to either do that or blast this thing to bits."

"Mm, dark Willow," Kennedy said approvingly, not really helping.

Willow half-smiled despite herself and defeatedly shut windows down. "This isn't working. But I'm curious and I have an idea, so I just want to go ahead and test that. It might take a while. I'm sorry I can't just get this done. It must be frustrating for you too."

"It's okay," Buffy assured her. "We get to see him in person, so it can wait. Speaking of which, guess who I saw on grounds patrol today?"

"Tom Petty?" Cordelia guessed.

"Ummm…no." Buffy frowned deeply at Cordelia. "It was Spike. He was just getting out of an appointment or something."

"Really?" Willow paused. "Did he mention any details?"

"Not really. He had to get a shot," Buffy recalled. "He said it was a regular thing."

"Okay," Willow said excitedly. "I can work with that. There has to be a patient chart."

"But that'll just show his fake name," Fred reminded her.

"Well, it might help," Willow pouted. "It's worth a shot."

"Oh! And he mentioned a name, too. Dr… Sullivan? No… Sutton, I think."

"What else did he say?" Willow questioned, typing quickly.

"Not much," Buffy shrugged. "Except…" a grin played across her lips… "He said that tough girls are hot. And something about being naked. I didn't really pay attention to anything after that."

* * *

Fred shifted her stance nervously, Buffy's unnerving stillness the source of her uneasiness. She didn't know anyone who could get like that, except for Angel, or Wesley when he was pissed off, or Cordelia when someone had just insulted her. 

"Maybe he'll be here soon," Fred suggested. "We should wait inside."

Buffy remained completely still, only her eyes slowly scanning their surroundings. She was so sharp, so attentive, that it was giving Fred chills. Her eyes finally fell on the library, where she focused for a long time before catching a glimpse of movement. "Or maybe he's already here."

Fred wasn't so sure, but Buffy was already headed for the library, so she kept up with her. Just as soon as they had reached the door, Fred crashed into Buffy. The slayer had stopped short right in front of her, and Fred was a little miffed.

"What-"

"Shh," Buffy stepped to the side, out of the line of sight incase the librarian glanced out the door. Fred looked in and saw Galen at the counter, talking to the librarian.

"Oh."

"This book doesn't come in Braille," the librarian told Galen, opening the thick hardcover book. "Or on audiotape."

"That's alright. I plan on bullying some hapless soul into reading it to me," Galen replied.

She conceded, stamping the book. "This is due in two weeks."

"Thank you," Galen gently tugged at Vancouver, the slight pressure enough to get the dog headed for the door. The librarian was already across the room to sort out a cart of books by the time he pushed open the door.

"Oomph," Buffy said as the door swung into her back. "Galen," she said.

"Do you _always_ stand in the doorway?" Galen inquired, truly curious.

"No," Buffy said, embarrassed as she let him through. She glanced to see if the librarian had seen the exchange, confused when she was gone. "You actually checked out a book?"

"It was the one I never found," Galen answered, shifting the book, and Fred caught sight of the cover.

"Oh, the book on medicine," Fred recalled. "When we first met.

"Yeah," Galen said. "I don't remember what that day that was. It could have been forever ago. But I remember you chattering about leeches and maggots."

"Um, yeah," Fred laughed nervously. "Not the best first impression."

"It was strangely reassuring," Galen said. "Which is good. Things change too much. Nothing seems to be reliable anymore."

"I've found that life seems a lot simpler lately," Buffy said. "Still screwed up, but not in such a frantic way."

"Me too," Galen agreed, recalling that it wasn't too long ago when he was in crisis everyday. Now he felt like he could think and breathe on his own.

* * *

"We did take care of it! For Chrissakes, Angel, you were there!" 

Wesley's shout rang out in the lobby when the trio returned. Buffy paused, her hand holding the door open, mentally weighing the situation for a moment.

"Then explain this to me," Angel said, his voice low and angry. His arms were folded, expression cold, making his large presence known. It was unusual to see him like this, at least towards his own team. Usually he tried to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

That was probably why everyone was dead quiet and tense, unwilling to draw Angel's attention towards them. Only Cordelia was an exception to the rule; she was leaning on the counter with her head in her hands, suffering a post-vision sickness. Angel was glaring at Wesley and the ex-watcher's fist kept clenching rhythmically, his jaw tightening to keep his composure.

Fred trembled beside Buffy and tightened her hold on the medical book, the mousy, nervous girl resurfacing.

Buffy shifted her stance and rubbed Galen's arm soothingly, where their arms were already linked together. When she glanced at him, however, he was stoic, even nonchalant.

"It was a possibility," Wesley said quietly, his voice quavering with the effort to stay calm, and wary of Galen's presence.

Angel still looked pissed, but now guilt was mixing in for yelling at Wesley. "This means we're in bigger trouble than we thought. They're scattered around… multiplying."

"Why don't you just go ki… kick some ass and take names?" Cordelia suggested, a little more than annoyed by their immaturity when she was still plagued by the images of fresh demon-roach victims. Several men and women reduced to grisly piles of raw bones in the process of being stripped clean by swarms of the giant cockroaches. She shakily straightened up and snatched up the sheet of paper with the location clues that she had written down and held it towards Angel. "Here you go, hero."

Angel frowned at her snide tone and took the sheet, glancing at it before he folded it over and tucked it into his coat. "Come on, Wesley," he said, resigned as he went to the weapons cabinet. Dawn opened it up for him before he arrived at the cabinet, nearly bouncing on her toes at the sight of so many sharp, dangerous weapons, all glinting with sliver blades and teeth meant to pierce, tear, slice, and kill.

Galen listened to the clear, distinct sound of metal sliding against metal. It was like the sound effects in movies, and he wondered what kind of weapon had been brought out. Maybe an oversized knife, like a serial killer. Some bad person was going to die.

He complied when Buffy's arm tightened on his and pulled him to the side. He heard Angel and Wesley approach, and could hear Fred's smaller feet quickly shuffle to be beside him.

"Are-are you going to be okay?" Fred stammered. "I-I could try to fix the prototype. I-it's not in great shape, but it'll work….."

"No," Angel said quietly. "This is just reconnaissance. But it would be good if you did get around to fixing that up for us."

"Do you need backup?" Buffy offered, reluctant but willing to leave with them.

"No," Angel said again. "We'll call Gunn and make him earn his pay."

There was a stir in the air when Angel and Wesley left.

"I want to work here after I graduate," Dawn announced to Buffy, for only the umpteenth time since they first arrived in LA.

"Absolutely not," Buffy answered immediately.

"Come on, Angel and everybody agrees I'd be great here," Dawn complained, but Buffy ignored her in favor of guiding Galen towards the couch to sit.

"The floor," Galen said.

"Floor?" Buffy repeated, even as Galen was already settling onto the titled floor. "Why the floor?"

"Floor is good," Galen answered vaguely, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. Vancouver sat down and then lowered himself to his belly and Galen stroked the dog's head affectionately.

"Such a weirdo," Buffy muttered, watching Galen's smirk as she sat down near him. Willow was giving her a worried look and Giles was nervous-looking, apparently having returned to Wesley.

"So," Galen turned his head towards Buffy out of curiosity. "Who're they going to kill?"

"No one," Buffy replied, her remorseful tone letting him know she was telling the truth. "What makes you think that?"

"There were knives or something. I've never even held a real knife, but I know, because they _always_ make that sound."

"Always?" Buffy repeated, amused.

"Always," Galen affirmed, like a child that believed in Santa. She would have corrected him, if he weren't so close to right.

"It's hard to explain, but we're the good guys. Just remember that," Buffy said to him.

"I'll take your word for it, as long as you don't decide to off me," Galen said. "Don't stab me; love me."

"You're very loveable," Buffy assured him.

Galen smiled sweetly at her. "I sure have you fooled."

"Hush," Buffy scolded him. "Let's see that book," she opted, and grimaced when Fred showed her the cover. "O-okay. My brain is all hurty already."

"It's not _that_ difficult," Fred frowned. "I think it was made for medical students. Not even _advanced_ medical students."

"I have a first grade reading level," Galen said flatly. "And that's when I can remember my letters. Read the book."

Fred sighed softly, the sympathy card playing perfectly. "What are we looking for?"

"Blepharospasm," Galen answered.

"B-L-E…?" Fred questioned, parting the book.

"Yeah," Galen nodded, laying back on the floor and staring up at lights on the ceiling. They were nearly invisible against the dark smear of the rest of the world, but when he looked hard, they were there.

"Dystonia," Fred said when she found the article.

"Focal dystonia," Galen corrected absent-mindedly.

Fred glanced at him and then back at the text. "Benign Essential Blepharospasm."

"Blaugh…" Buffy interrupted. "What does that mean?"

"Focal dystonia is just a common type of dystonia," Fred said. "Muscle spasms. This article is about the specific type of focal dystonia, blepharospasm. It… effects the eyes. Benign means that it's not fatal and essential means that the cause is unknown."

"Read it," Galen said.

"It's complicated," Fred stalled. "Even if I read this, I'd have to explain again."

"I'm not going to grovel for you," Galen said, staring at the lights above and continuously loosing sight of them as they blended into the all-encompassing darkness. The next moment, he'd be able to pick them out again. He was getting better, but half the time he still felt like someone had lobotomized him. He didn't want Fred to dumb things down for him; he already knew most of the facts anyway, they just wouldn't come out of his mouth the right way.

Fred waited for Galen to say something else, but he didn't.

"Read it anyway," Buffy said. "You can explain the hard words to me."

Fred scanned the article with her eyes and then began to read, verbatim. Galen shifted as he tried to focus on the words, and took off the dark glasses so he could see the lights more clearly, and maybe better understand what was being read. The words immediately became a soothing flow of syllables as Fred pronounced several dozen difficult words all strung together into complex sentences. They sounded as complex as the complications in his neurons probably were. Whatever half of the words meant was the reason why he had to wear the dark glasses. He only wished that he could begin to understand why the light wouldn't reach his brain correctly.

Buffy sat beside him with more interest now, admiring the flat planes of his stomach. What Fred was reading began to trouble her. The harshly analytical words coupled with Galen's uncharacteristically bared blue eyes, made him seem painfully vulnerable. Some of the words in the article or the description themselves were too advanced for her to follow, but what she did grasp, she didn't like.

Fred came to the end of the reading, looked over the page, and then lifted her head. There was a potent silence in the room that Buffy felt compelled to break.

"Is that what you have?"

"Hmm?" Galen barely stirred, too busy trying to define the outside curve of the lights with his eyes.

"Dystonia," Fred stated.

"_Focal_ dystonia. Hemifacial, bilateral, benign… lateralism."

"You weren't listening," Fred concluded.

"Preknowledge," Galen said by way of explanation. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know. It was just mind-achingly more complex and you didn't even cover what I wanted to hear about." He raised his hand above his head, and pointed at the center of the faint, circular light. "KA-POW!"

"Nice shot," Buffy smirked, making Galen's lips twitch in a responding smile.

"I read the entire article," Fred said patiently.

"Impossible."

"We all lost a few brain cells trying to understand it," Xander said.

"Most of us," Giles corrected defensively.

"Blepharospasm," Fred said. "Involuntary closure of the eyes for longer than a normal blink."

"Define 'normal blink,'" Dawn challenged, to which no one responded.

"Oh, yeah. Is that all that one says?" Galen sat upright, keeping his glasses in one hand.

"No," Fred replied. "It goes on about how the condition affects the rest of the face and the jaws. People with blepharospasm suffer from tics and forced closure of the eyes when the symptoms flare up."

"That isn't so bad," Cordelia shrugged.

"It starts with eye irritation and moves on to involuntary spasms triggered by fatigue, stress, and anxiety," Fred said, because apparently no one was able to comprehend the text itself. "When it gets worse there are repeated episodes through the day, and when it becomes severe their eyes close frequently and for hours at a time. It also indicates that it could lead to blindness."

"I'm not liking those severe symptoms," Galen said, unaware of Buffy staring at him.

"Galen," Buffy spoke softly to get his attention. "Is this what happened? Why you're blind?"

"What? Of course not," Galen snorted immediately, pausing to wonder why she would even think that. "No. Oh no, no, no, love… you've got that all wrong," he told her, reaching out to touch her reassuringly. "Geez, no. Those are two entirely separate things."

"How are you so sure?" Buffy bit her bottom lip, hyperaware of Galen's solid hand on her arm.

"Because blindness is never absolute," Galen said, withdrawing his hand, much to Buffy's disappointment. "Most people with blepharospasm have completely normal eyes. But I haven't met anyone who can see a bloody thing with their eyes closed."

"So it isn't because of this," Buffy said.

"No way. It just got mixed in."

"What a crappy mix," Xander commented. "And not to poop on happy sharing hour but I'm not seeing how this connects to anything."

"So _this_ one will stop harassing me about taking off my glasses," Galen gestured at Buffy and then unfolded his glasses and put them on again.

"I harass you?" Buffy said doubtfully. "I think the real reason why you're letting me know all of this is so that you can _take off_ your glasses once in a while." As she spoke, she had removed his glasses and now admired the beautiful blue eyes that he could only picture as damaged.

"Yeah, well…" Galen trailed off, listening to something.

"What?" Buffy asked.

He shook his head. "So, tell me why an alleged detective takes a knife out with him when he goes?"

"It's complicated," Buffy said patiently.

"I'm an understanding guy. And if it's confidential, I can assure you that I won't understand half of it."

Buffy smiled despite herself. "It would take too long to explain everything. If I just ask you to trust me, will you let it go?"

"Are you a deadly double agent?"

"How did you figure it out?" Buffy asked, lowering her voice teasingly.

"Just a lucky guess."

The front doors swung open, much to Galen's confusion as he heard people rush into the building – two, maybe three.

"Buffy," Angel said. She rose to her feet and as soon as Galen felt her leave, he stood up as well.

"What's happening?" Willow asked, scooting down the couch towards Xander.

"Everybody sit tight," Angel instructed. "Fred, you didn't by any chance fix that flamethrower, did you?"

"No."

"Right," he nodded and started leaving again, heading towards the back of the hotel. Gunn followed him silently, holding his axe.

"Flamethrower," Galen repeated, and felt Vancouver sit next to his leg.

"We've traced them back here," Wesley explained to Giles breathlessly, following Angel and Gunn.

"I should go," Buffy said to Galen.

"No," Angel called back to her. "Stay with him and Dawn and kill anything that moves."

Buffy looked at Galen warily, whose only visible reaction to the words was a slightly troubled look. His expression as mostly restrained, trying to fight off the tic developing in his right eye. "Apparently you're going to be finding out anyway," she said to him apologetically, brushing his hair with her fingers. She still held his glasses in her hand and gave them back to him now. "Just stay here with me and I'll protect you."

"Isn't that supposed to be the other way around?" Galen questioned, lowering his head.

"Only in fairy tales."

"I don't even get to be a frog," Galen muttered as Buffy walked away towards the weapons cabinet that Dawn was cheerfully raiding, twirling a sword like she was an old pro.

"Trust me, it's not a great experience," Xander told him. "And there's no shame in letting the Buffster defend you. She's an unnaturally defensive girl, for starters."

"Baby steps, Xan," Buffy cautioned him.

"You really are a secret agent of some sort," Galen said when Buffy rejoined him.

"I don't work for an agency."

"You've gone rogue. And what is coming, anyway? Some sort of mafia?"

"If I understand what Angel was tracking; hardly," Buffy sighed.

Vancouver was already growling, able to detect the mass presence of unnatural creatures.

"And he's not really a detective."

"Of _course_ he is."

Then the demons swarmed.

* * *

**A/N: And so we're back. The previous version of Chapter 13 was a little better than this, so it will be integrated into the next chapter. Sorry for any inconvenience, and thanks to all of the generous reviews from the last chapter.**

**Special thanks to elijahblue, who kept urging me to write another chapter. I still have bruises from all of the poking. Sorry I missed your birthday, hon. ((hugs))**


	14. Caught

**A/N: No beta. Be forewarned.**

* * *

_Then the demons swarmed._

Vancouver went crazy at the first sight of the roach-like monsters, snapping his teeth and snarling uncharacteristically.

"Hold him," Buffy commanded, although Galen already had a grip on Vancouver's harness and was holding him back with all of his strength.

For Galen, who could see nothing, the chaos was ever more confusing. Everything seemed to have a sound, and because of that he could almost picture the disorder. A high-pitched, dry sound like hissing flooded the room. The hissing became a constant buzz in the air, but there were the underlying sounds of insect-like scuttling. As soon as he realized that one of these things was nearby, there was a loud clang and that particular thing gave out a shrill, ear-splitting screech that made Galen cringe and Vancouver whimper.

Buffy was shouting out to Xander, and then a sick, squelching noise could be heard and more shrill shrieks of death came from farther away.

The insect sounds were suddenly very close to Galen, surprising him, and then someone shoved him back bodily. There was a female murmur of apology; Dawn's voice, and she stayed pressed against him until another clang brought an abrupt and short-lived shriek.

"Thanks, sis," Dawn said breathlessly, still pressed against Galen to keep him back.

"Watch him," Buffy said sternly before leaving again.

The sounds of hissing began to thin out as the shrieking and chopping sounds continued. Insects. Or spiders. Large, probably very dangerous ones, at that. And this was what they were fighting with the swords? Good use for swords.

"What is going on?" Galen questioned Dawn quietly, afraid to disturb the other noises; good sounds destroying the bad, and it was all very frightening.

Dawn bit her lip, uncertain of how to answer. "It's okay, it'll be over soon," she said instead, running her hand over his shoulder. He trembled under her touch like a spooked horse, muscles tense with the instinct to flee. What little sight he had was useless in distinguishing any people or things. Some sounds were difficult to distinguish how far away they were, so he felt very claustrophobic. He started when a sound of rapid scurrying came towards him at ground level, abruptly stopped by another clang, which made him imagine a hammer striking wood, with something brittle crunching in between.

"Gunn, a little backup back here," Angel called out. The chaotic battle played out for several long minutes, filled with hissing, smashing and shrieking.

"Bet you wish you had the flamethrower," Cordelia commented to Wesley, batting any frenzying demons away from her with a broom.

"It was more efficient, yes, but much less –" _Crunch!_ "Satisfying."

"How many are left?" Buffy asked breathlessly, noting a sharp decrease in the number of living demons.

"I'm estimating seven," Fred answered, hiding in a safer, demon-free zone where she surveyed the damage carefully.

"If it moves, kill it," Buffy said. "If it's squishy but still moving, kill it again. Move fast. Don't let any of these things escape."

Gunn brought his ax down onto the floor, killing a roach as it tried to flee past him. "I did my share."

"Great," Buffy watched something move briefly and disappear from sight. "There are still a few left, so-" a shriek came up from Angel's direction.

The vampire pulled the tip of his sword out of the demon. "One down."

"Just keep crushing."

"How will we know when they've all been killed?" Giles asked.

"When the hissing stops," Buffy answered. The sharp, distinct sound from before had turned into a baseline hum. The fighters fanned out, trying to find a location of the hum, while those less talented in violence stayed still, out of the way.

The slayer moved closer to the couch, sweeping the toe of her shoe underneath, and sliced the demon in half as soon as it shot after the moving target. When it died, they listened carefully, but the humming had stopped.

"Guess we showed them," Xander spat out triumphantly, hopping off of the couch cushions.

Galen could still hear echoes of the scurrying in his head, and he flinched involuntarily at imagined insects and over-sized spiders. Dawn lightly touched his shoulder, but his skin still crawled.

"Yuck," Cordelia blurted out. "Who's going to clean this up?"

"You work here," Dawn replied, laughing. "But I don't think that broom will be much use."

"Maybe a shovel," Willow suggested, a little bit twitchy with adrenaline from magically deflecting a few of the nasty creatures.

"How did they get in here?" Buffy wondered. "I thought you guys extinguished the nest."

"They must have multiplied underground," Wesley speculated. "A few probably survived our ambush, or they were a part of a different nest chamber altogether. Or a different type of workers, much like ants."

"Eeeeew, are you suggesting there'll be a queen?!" Cordelia squealed.

"I wouldn't be the one to know," Wesley said crossly. "At any rate, when we followed through the sewer systems, a massive trail was headed towards the hotel. We exited through a local manhole."

"What I don't get is why they honed in on this place," Angel frowned, looking at his messy blade with displeasure.

The humming sound suddenly came back; an angry sound, like an engine powering up. Dawn shrieked as the demon roach launched itself right at her, but when everyone looked, the demon was caught in Galen's clenched fist. Galen's eyes were clamped closed and he flinched as the roach curled itself around his hand, disgustingly thick legs pushing against his skin with tremendous force, but not enough to make Galen drop the creature. The more the demon squirmed, the more Galen tightened his fist until he felt and heard the shell crack in his grip. The muscles in his arms stood up, strained for a moment before the exoskeleton crumbled with a screech from the creature, and then chunks of black goo oozed out from between his fingers.

Only then did Galen open his hand, shaking as he felt globs of gunk fall from his fingers to the floor.

"Galen," Buffy said, astonished and worried for him as he covered his face with his right hand.

A horrible headache was setting in as he felt muscles cramp and spasm at the same time. It was never this bad before, but then the spiders weren't supposed to be real. They were just supposed to be a delusion, albeit a persistent one that should have been left behind in the haze of horrible drugs and near catatonic schizophrenic delusions. Just figments and medication making his skin crawl. Not real, not real, not real…. Another small piece of insect guts fell off of his hand, and Galen flinched again. There was an overwhelming need to cry, and an even stronger urge to break something violently, to scratch off his itching skin and somehow put an end to his nightmare. All he could do was tremble, trying not to do anything at all that he knew was bad.

"I really hate you guys."

* * *

"You're cheating." 

"I'm not cheating. You just suck at poker," Addison replied.

"You've been cheating since we started!" Rachel argued, convinced that she was being duped.

"We've played four hands, and I've shuffled every time," Eamon said. "It's just the luck of the draw."

"You're both working against me," Rachel decided angrily.

Eamon shrugged, collecting the cards and toying with the deck now that he sensed they wouldn't be dealing out another hand anytime soon. "You'll get better with time."

Rachel sighed in aggravation, wondering why everything had to be so difficult. They all heard the front door open and close, and the unmistakable sound of Vancouver trotting on the kitchen tiles. "Boyfriend's back," she said casually to Eamon.

"I'm amused that you've decided he's my boyfriend," Eamon shuffled the deck, keeping his voice low as he listened to Brenda's busy movements, putting away coats and keys and checking into the office.

"At least you could win against G," Addison said. "A blind man is no competition. But I'm not sure about Couver."

"Yeah, get your laughs out," Rachel scowled. "I happen to kick ass at board games."

Addison sighed longingly. "Can't wait to leave this crapshoot and play with my game system again."

"Be nice to have some sex at least," Rachel muttered, glancing quickly at the doorway and relieved to see Galen instead of Brenda or Mary. "Stop lurking and sit next to me," she called, moving from the card table to the couch, patting the seat next to her.

"I'm just going to go to bed," Galen answered, rocking slightly against the doorway. The sound of Vancouver eating in the kitchen reminded him of the insects. The darkness voids in his vision transformed into squirming creatures with dozens of spiny legs.

"Not before I talk to you," Brenda interrupted, standing at his elbow. She took his arm to guide him away. "Come with me."

Galen complied unresistingly, emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted for the day.

"Did you enjoy your visit to the library tonight?" Brenda asked.

"Oh, yeah," Galen nodded. "I checked out an interesting book."

"I saw that. I'm not sure how you'll go about reading it, though."

"I was going to have Eamon read it to me, or maybe Rachel," Galen responded.

"Of course," Brenda agreed. There was a pause and a draw of breath that told Galen this was far from over. "I understand that it didn't take you very long to find that book. So explain to me how you spent two hours out, but you left the library only fifteen minutes after I dropped you off there?"

All of the blood in his veins ran cold, and his eyes threatened with a brief twitch. "I… I didn't…."

"I know you didn't," Brenda replied. "Where did you go?"

"Just… outside," Galen answered, praying that she didn't somehow know that he had gone to the hotel. "I just, I wanted to walk with Couver."

"Galen, it is _very_ important that you stay exactly where you're allowed to be," Brenda chastised. "It's against the rules for you to be out by yourself, not to mention dangerous for your well-being."

"I just wanted to walk with Couver," Galen quivered. "I never get to really walk with him. Guide dogs are supposed to be for outside, and he does so well. I just wanted to walk."

"I understand that," Brenda said, in a tone that said it didn't matter. "A seeing-eye dog gives you a lot of independence, and you want to explore that. But it's too risky for you to go out at night when you're not that experienced with handling him. It's a great privilege to have a dog like him, Galen. Are you that selfish? Do you want to have Vancouver taken away from you?"

"_No_," Galen protested, stricken by the thought. "He's my dog."

"But you're misusing your privileges," Brenda said. "Breaking the strict guidelines we have in place. I can't overlook this, but I'm willing to compromise."

"I can walk him?" Galen asked hopefully, his eyes stinging hot.

"Yes," Brenda agreed. "You can walk Vancouver in the afternoon, instead of going to the library."

"But I… I like going to the library," Galen objected weakly.

"Then I can drive you there, but I'm not leaving you there. You can return and check out books and go back immediately afterwards."

/i A horrible nightmare. /i "The tape players are at the library."

"Just check out regular books, and ask nicely for someone to read to you," Brenda said.

"It's so much quieter there," Galen said, feeling like his voice was getting weaker and quieter, useless and insignificant. His small, inexplicable world was being crushed and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Not seeing Fred, or Dawn, or having Buffy, and after everything she had just explained, being so truthful about what they were. _Heroes._ He was grateful for the glasses, because he had to close his eyes to stop tears from escaping.

_No mourning. It was too good. A quiet death. Let it go… let it…just…_

"I'm not discussing this anymore with you," Brenda concluded. "I have other situations to tackle tonight."

Galen felt her move away and heard her call to Rachel, and did his best to deaden himself to any thoughts or emotions before they returned. Things were so much simpler before he came into coherency. Why did he have to start comprehending things? Why couldn't he just be oblivious and numb to all sense of reality? He could have lived with those imaginary spiders that felt real, but never be told that they _were_ real.

"Rachel," Brenda said, standing in front of her and Galen. "We have reason to believe that you've been skipping your medication."

"What?" Rachel and Galen both felt their hearts stop for a moment. "That's ridiculous; you've seen me take the pills."

"Your behavior has been deteriorating, especially in the morning," Brenda replied, unconvinced. "I'm sure that a lab analysis would show that you don't have any Seroquel in your system. And Galen, for the same reasons I'm sure you've been skipping your nighttime medication as well. You're not sleeping at night anymore. Although to be perfectly fair, there is a chance that neither of you have been dishonest about your medication. But just as a precaution, I feel the need to tighten up around here, so we've sent out orders for your prescriptions at smaller doses and we'll be working our way back up again."

It took all of Rachel's self-restraint not to curse or cry when Brenda brought out the new medication and made them take it, watching each like a hawk until they swallowed to her satisfaction.

Rachel grimaced when the pill went down her throat, and was sure that Galen felt the same way. "You'd better clamp down on Dunkin, too," she suggested bitterly, tossing away the small plastic cup that came complimentary. "He's probably been sneaking away some of his placebos."

"I'm not worried about Dunstan," Brenda replied, and Rachel tightened her jaw, realizing who had ratted them out. "It's almost time for light's out."

Rachel forced herself to stop glowering at Brenda as the bitch turned away. She touched Galen's arm, grasping onto his sleeve. "Come on, let's go watch Eamon and Addy play before we're locked in our rooms for the night."

"I'm just tired," Galen muttered quietly, which disturbed Rachel.

"Don't let the Nazi government take you down," Rachel frowned. "They can't win, G. Even with all of their fancy Illuminati brainwashing medication they'll never take us. Don't let them take you without a decent fight. Ever."

"I'm just tired," Galen repeated. "I just want to go to sleep."

Rachel sighed softly, studying Galen's face and wishing he didn't sound so defeated. "Yeah, just sleep it off, G. Things will look better in the morning, maybe."

She guided him into the living room, and gave Eamon a worried and angry look when Galen went to his room.

Vancouver followed, plopping onto the floor while his master crawled into bed, laying his head down on his pillow.

The sheets smelled stale and impersonal, and had probably been the same for the man who slept there before him, and the men who would sleep there after he was gone. He was just a man without any place to belong. His clothes weren't his clothes, he didn't have any clue about a career or a family, and his name wasn't even his real name, whatever it used to be. No identity, no home, no attachment to the world. Not any more. At least with those strange people, it was like the start of something tangible, and it was all wiped away again. The only thing that actually belonged to him was Vancouver, and the bitch had threatened to have that striped of him as well.

Galen crawled to the edge of the bed and reached down to pet Vancouver. "You're mine," he told the dog softly but sternly, listening to the dog breathe, relaxed and receptive to more attention. "I need you, so you _can't leave me._"

Vancouver sighed softly, seemingly content to be where he was, and Galen closed his eyes futilely to block out the despair.

He'd always had this thought planted in his head that stretched back a long while. So long ago, in fact, that he swore it must have been something someone told to him at the beginning of all that he could remember. All of those memories were too hazy to be distinct, but he had always been wordlessly reassured that everything possible would be done to restore his memory. Now he distinctly recognized that there was never an investigation or even the slightest effort to help him remember any of it, and there never would be.

Addison and Eamon had been offered some counseling to work out life after recovery, but Galen and Rachel had been offered next to nothing. It was as if their stay was planned, and they weren't destined to be released for a long time to pass. There was no way he could survive on his own in the real world, and no one was doing a damn thing to offer any solutions or advice. Just pills, doctor's visits and wasted hours.

Were more wasted hours destined to come, full of prescriptions and psychoanalysts, doctors with cold hands and colder tables? The beds would always smell stale and his personal belongings would be whatever they allowed him to keep.

Maybe his life was only destined for the psych ward, and all of this experimental freedom bullshit was just that.

Experimental bullshit.

So in truth, none of this even mattered. Galen let this thought sink in as he found the cold metal frame of the bed and smashed his fist against it, enjoying the pulse of pain that made him clench his jaw to keep silent. He smashed the flat of his wrist into the metal frame the second time, and found the noise to be good. It was a dull sound that he knew wouldn't travel well out of the room, and reminded him of Buffy and her friends, the ones that brought his nightmares into reality, but they destroyed them. Each slam made the spiders go away, but he had to stop as it kept getting harder to hit in the same spot.

So he switched wrists and started banging the other one into the metal frame with more purpose. Each solid hit made the cool metal bite so pleasantly and painfully into the tender flesh. It was focusing and grounding. Every strike of skin against metal made it easier not to think of anything at all, and yet he felt more real as his mind cleared. The flesh throbbed. He alternated, driving with more intent until each blow created a blindingly good flash of pain and realness into him. The light was so good, too good to stop, and even though it was getting harder to make himself keep hitting the metal, he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop, even though Vancouver had started barking wildly; didn't stop until his hands were snatched away and caught.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for so much feedback. I'm so impressed that you didn't forget about this, and I did not forget about you! I'm glad to be back, and excited because I'll be having tons of fun with this soon! xoxo**


	15. Compromised

**Thanks to Darklover for looking over this chapter. Persisting mistakes are the author's fault alone.**

* * *

The funny-shaped pancakes sizzled quietly on the frying pan early in the morning. Dawn had woken up early especially to have time to make them and to avoid Willow, Kennedy, or Buffy for a while. Pancakes always made her think of Tara, and how she would make breakfast and eat with her in the morning when Tara and Willow moved into the house after Buffy's death. Tara would ask her, "Circles or funny-shapes?" and let Dawn choose. It was the closest she got to normal after Mom had died; smelling bacon and eggs cooking and smiling while Willow and Tara giggled and licked pancake batter from each other's fingers. 

What if it was Tara they had found? What if she were the one to somehow come back from the grave as a different person, instead of Spike? She would have a different hair color, and no past, and maybe she would be called Sophie. Maybe Willow would be the one to have a horrible time deciding whether or not Sophie was Tara or another individual altogether; someone who deserved to be left alone to live their own normal life.

But maybe Sophie wouldn't have such a great life. Maybe she would have horrible post-traumatic stress and blackouts. Maybe she would live in a small boarding room with barely anything to call her own. Maybe the best thing to do would be to take her in and try to explain her complex history, and try to persuade her to fall in love with Willow again.

Maybe she was never meant to be.

* * *

"You don't know why you did this to yourself?"

The silence of the office was only pervaded by the therapist's unrelenting questions, and the clock ticking on the wall. It was only the kind of quiet that generously plush carpets and thick walls provided, neither of which Galen was familiar with. He sat sullenly on the couch, wishing he had Vancouver there to pet and distract himself, but whoever had decided to keep the dog away probably knew he'd try to hide that way.

"Or do you just not want to tell me?" the therapist guessed.

The man didn't know when to shut his mouth. Galen had already heard all of the questions, most of them screamed at him by Brenda before she became furiously silent and dragged him off like a horrible mother does to an insolent child. She was going to take Vancouver away forever. She was going to send him back to the psych ward if he didn't talk to this therapist. And if she did either of those things, he was going to stab her to death with her own fucking pen. He decided not to share that with the therapist.

His wrists were iced and wrapped, although there was nothing more than a horrible ache. He felt cold satisfaction over it, but stayed quiet, because if he tried to speak to her he was going to lose it, and there was no way in hell he was going to let her win by breaking down in front of her. He didn't give a shit about her.

The others might have come out of their rooms, but he didn't hear who it was. She just yelled for them to get back in their rooms and go to bed. Then she had grilled him for another twenty minutes to her great frustration before putting him back in his room and closing the door to keep Vancouver out.

Galen had immediately opened the door to let Vancouver in, slamming it once he had his dog back. She stopped yelling at him after he called her a cunt. It all stung in his ears and he didn't want to fight over it all. Needed to fight.

Spent the night fighting against the effects of the tranquilizer, holding onto Couver. Didn't last two hours before he fell asleep, and had horrible dreams about spiders and a beautiful blonde girl that he loved but couldn't find, and woke up to a horrible, tender pain in his wrists.

"We can play the silent game as long as you want," the therapist said passively, although Galen could hear the annoyed edge to his voice as clear as day. "But to be perfectly honest with you, if you don't talk to me now, there are going to be consequences. So tell me, Mr. Bristol, why do you feel like hurting yourself?"

"I was just upset," Galen said miserably.

"You were feeling stressed? Overwhelmed?"

"Yes, exactly that."

The chair creaked as the psychiatrist shifted, leaning forward. "Mr. Bristol – may I call you Galen? It's a nice name. Means 'calm.' You need to find a better way to channel your stress. It's completely reasonable that you would feel overwhelmed. I could not begin to understand the kind of stress that a man in your position would experience daily. But this is not a reasonable way to deal with stress. Hurting yourself solves nothing, even if it makes you feel better for a few minutes. Am I on track, here?"

"Yes, sir," Galen answered quietly.

"I want you to do me a favor, Galen. The next time you're feeling stressed out, Galen, I want you to stop and take a deep breath. Find someone to talk to, and don't let yourself be left alone if you feel like you might injure yourself or someone else. Because if this continues, Galen, it will only earn you a one-way ticket to the hospital, and there may be a good case to have you committed."

"I can't," Galen choked out, finding his voice cracking.

"Can't what? You can't stop from hurting yourself?"

"No, I can't… talk to anyone. The nurse at the home, Brenda, started yelling at me. Screaming. I'm not going to explain myself to her. She hates me. She wants to take away my dog I just got. My seeing-eye dog."

"She can't do that," the therapist responded tensely. "And it sounds like she behaved very unprofessionally in the situation. I'm sorry about that, but I still need to ask of you what we talked about. Are there any other personnel that work at the home?"

"Yes."

"Do you have someone else to talk to, then? Someone you could confide in? And if you want to, we could schedule—"

"I—yes, I do. Have someone."

* * *

"This should work," Fred said aloud after clicking the trigger a few times and watching water squirt across the room.

"Will it be more useful this time?" Wesley questioned, a bit harshly.

"In theory, it'll work fine," Fred responded. She heard a door close and waited for Angel to walk across the lobby, then nailed him with a thread of water.

"GAH!" Angel jumped, nearly dropping a file. "Fred," he said, unable to fully scold her as she giggled at him with a guilty look. "Could you not squirt on the boss, or—uh—ugh!—never mind. Is that thing fixed?"

"Need to test it," Fred shrugged. "I made some modifications, though. It's much simpler now, really. Funny how I didn't think of it before, as smart as I'm supposed to be."

"We all have our dumb days," Cordelia said. "Are those files the one we pulled out on BatBoy?"

"If you mean Galen, then yes," Angel responded, laying the file on the desk. "Where did you get BatBoy from?"

"Bat," Cordelia said. "As in blind as a:?"

"Bats aren't blind," Angel pointed out.

"And according to Mr. Hellen Keller, almost no one really is," Cordelia retorted, while Angel rolled his eyes. "Dig up anymore interesting clues, Sherlock?"

"No, this is the same dead-end information," Angel sighed. "No leads anywhere, and Willow still hasn't crack the system."

"Somebody wants him to be kept a secret," Wesley said.

"Or they just secure their patient's information well," Fred countered shruggingly, removing a screw to adjust one of her components. "Or there really isn't any useful information to begin with."

"There's something there," Angel said stubbornly. "Something to show that they know they have a mystically conjured human, or something."

"If the big theory is that Wolfram & Hart is responsible for this, we should be unleashing HackerWitch on their network instead," Cordelia suggested.

"We should," Wesley agreed. "But I'm quite apprehensive of that reproach. They have a very powerful security system bound in dark magics. There's no telling what could happen."

"Start researching the place, then," Angel suggested. "See if we can buy a few double-agents. Whatever it takes."

Wesley stood up, crossing the divide to stare Angel in the face. "And what if he is just a man? What if he should be left to his own life and his own fate? Who are we to drag him back to a world that he left behind when his rightful time came? Who are we to interfere with the _Shanshu_?"

"This cannot be the Shanshu," Angel declared. "And you will do whatever I tell—"

"Guhh-AAAAHHHHHHH!" Cordelia shrieked, clutching her head as she toppled to the floor.

Angel and Wesley both glanced at each other, surprised, and then in an instant Angel was by Cordelia's side, calling her name. He held her head, panicked underneath the calm surface as she convulsed on the floor.

"What's going on?" Fred said breathlessly, running over. "I thought the visions weren't supposed to be this bad."

"They're not," Angel responded tensely, waiting for Cordelia to snap out of it, but her eyes were rolling into her head. "Wesley, get a towel, now!"

* * *

"Communist Nazis," Rachel decided again, quietly.

Eamon was the most concerned out of the group, although Addison was showing a touch of more humanity than usual. Galen was cuddled close to him, too doped up on a dosage of sedatives to calm him to even coherently understand how glad he should be that Vancouver was sleeping underneath the coffee table.

Galen's wrists worried Eamon, and how the other man didn't twinge anymore when he gently stroked the damaged tissue. Although the was no broken skin – except for the first layer in a few places – the skin was bruised to a deep blue, and clearly showed two bar-shaped bruises on his left wrist, where he had viciously bruised the wrist in two specific places.

In all of the time Eamon knew Galen, he hadn't known him to be violent, even in crude arguments with Rachel. She provoked the devil's tongue in him sometimes, but now she was sitting as still as a doll, almost pleasant. There was no lustful eye, no bland suggestions, and even the curses were kept to a bare minimum.

If only they hadn't found out about the fucking pills. Now Galen sighed quietly against his chest, caught somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Any other night and it would have been deeply pleasing, but tonight it just disturbed him, and he continuously pet Galen to reassure him that things were going to be alright.

There was little supervision at the moment, as Brenda was being swapped out for Mary and in the meantime there was some sort of interrogation by the higher-ups about what had happened last night.

"I don't hear anything anymore," Rachel whimpered, and Eamon briefly wondered what she meant before he realized he really shouldn't care to know. She fussed for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to cry and then got off of the couch and went to her room, shutting the door. Even across the room, Eamon heard a low scream of anguish that ended shortly.

"Did they take Vancouver?" Galen asked quietly for the third time, sounding as if he had just come out of a bad dream.

"No," Eamon said again, not bothering to ask Galen if he had forgotten again. "They're not taking him away. They're getting rid of Brenda."

"Who's here?"

"Mary," Eamon answered, rubbing Galen's back when he huddled closer.

"I need to talk to her," Galen mumbled, sounding more lucid than he had for the last five hours.

* * *

"We can't be entirely sure that this is mystical," Giles said, producing a handkerchief from his pocket and going through the ritual of wiping his glasses.

"She has visions, Giles," Buffy said, as if he needed to be reminded. "Everything about this is mystical."

Cordelia was laid out in one of the guest rooms, still unconscious and unable to defend herself. She looked so frail, and Buffy could almost see why Angel loved her.

"Yes, but, perhaps this is just the result of those visions," Giles sighed. "They're becoming worse for her to handle."

"We've already gone through that," Angel interrupted from the hallway. "She's supposed to be part demon now, and strong enough to handle them." He paused, his certainty melting as no one spoke to agree. "You think they could get even stronger than that?"

"It's a possibility," Giles moved towards the door and motioning for Buffy to leave as well. "She should get her rest."

"I want to be there when she wakes up," Angel said quietly.

"You still love her, don't you?" Buffy asked him.

"We broke up a while ago," Angel answered. "Again. And we still haven't made up yet. I just don't want her to be alone. If you find anything… let me know, alright?"

"Okay," Buffy agreed, and Angel went into the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"There's boundless mentions of Seers, and a wide selection of more in-depths texts, but would you think that any of them would mention how to wake a Seer from a vision-induced coma?" Wesley spewed out angrily, tossing away one of the books that he usually petted and fawned over.

"The visions must be like an involuntary visionary and auditory hallucination, right?" Fred considered aloud, mostly to herself. "There's a strong chance that the vision is still in play. A very strong vision."

"That'd be one helluva trip," Gunn muttered.

"It could be a spell," Willow suggested, not liking the concept herself. "I know a couple spells that I could cast myself; hexes and curses that would have the same effect. Like, if I were an evil witch, I'd want her to be trapped forever in the next vision she has."

"Could someone cast a spell like that?" Buffy asked worriedly.

"I'm telling you right now that I have the means to, if I was really hell-bent on hurting Cordelia," Willow said, and then frowned. "Which is really incriminating to myself, but I don't hate Cordy; you all know that."

"What I mean is, could your average witch cast a spell like that?" Buffy rephrased. "Or is it a more complicated deal that only Willow could pull off?"

"If they knew their way around Latin, they could do it," Willow shrugged. "Do you want me to do a scan to see if any magic was used at all?"

"That would be most helpful," Wesley said, all but glaring at Willow.

She had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'll get right on that. And, sorry, Buffy, but I'm gonna have to put the hacking on hold."

"It's okay," Buffy said. "Cordy comes first right now."

"Not that we really need to know more about our Mystery Man anyway," Dawn added. "Not to be Rude One-Track-Mind Girl, but what are we going to do when Mr. Mystery himself gets here?"

"If he comes," Buffy interjected.

Dawn paused. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, any sane person wouldn't come back," Buffy said.

Dawn laughed. "Sanity is completely overrated. He's not exactly denying any streaks of crazy, either. You saw him crush that bug. He belongs here, not at some _home_."

"It's entirely his choice," Buffy said, restrained. "And if he asked to stay here… it'd be Angel's choice."

"Why can't we just kidnap him?" Dawn asked desperately. "We could convince him easily enough, and just keep him here with us."

"He'd be safer," Willow agreed.

"If Wolfram & Hart are monitoring him, they may come after us," Wesley countered.

"All the better reason to kidnap him before they figure out he's been coming here," Buffy realized. "It's fate. Willow. Get working on that spell. We need Cordy."

* * *

"Goddess Mother, I invoke thee," Willow intoned, sitting on the floor in the center of a circle cast with clover and eyebright.

Cordelia did not move anymore than it took to breathe, still comatose and showing no sign of awakening. The news that a spell was definitely in play pained Angel, but not as much as the fact that they had no clue exactly what it was, and therefore had no certain way to reverse it.

As Willow finished her chant, her eyes grew distant.

"Willow?" Buffy asked quietly when the witch hadn't blinked for an entire minute. "Are you still in there?"

"Don't touch," Giles warned, gently blocking Buffy's hand from touching Willow. "Astral projection can be a tricky business. It's best if you leave her body alone. If she's moved, there's no telling what could happen."

"I thought that was only if she couldn't find her body," Angel said.

"You could also disturb her on the astral plane," Giles replied.

"Well, I want her astral to be safe," Buffy said, moving back. "Do you think she's found Cordy?"

At that moment Willow collapsed onto the floor, seizuring.

"Willow!" Buffy dropped to her knees and lifted her friend's head. "Is this part of the spell?"

"She's fallen into it," Angel realized while Willow's eyes rolled into her head and her nose started to bleed.

"Wake up, Willow!" Buffy cried, shaking her to no avail. She looked around desperately and destroyed the circle, then smashed the dish that held dittany leaves and lilac oil.

The witch stopped seizuring and Buffy held her carefully, waiting for her to wake up.

"Angel," Cordelia said groggily, stirring in the bed. "I told you not to bother me at home." She sat up, staring at Giles and Buffy. "What are you all doing in my – this isn't my house."

"You were unconscious," Angel said to her.

"Really?"

Willow opened her eyes and looked at Buffy, confused, and around at the ingredients strewn on the floor. "Oh, God, was I possessed again? Is it my turn to kiss Xannie?"

"Uh… Xander's fine," Buffy answered, helping Willow to her feet. "And you weren't possessed. At least, I don't think so. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh, well there was a lot of gross demon bugs," Willow recalled. "Galen was there and kind of creeped out. We went home and then… there was some other stuff… and Kennedy kissed me goodnight."

"That's all?" Buffy blinked, dumbfounded.

"Hey, me too," Cordelia agreed. "Only without all of the lesbianess. I remember having to scrub that nasty black tar off of the floor."

"You don't remember coming in to the work the day after that?" Angel asked.

"Otherwise known as this morning," Buffy added.

"Whoa, whoa!" Cordelia jumped out of bed. "Are you telling me I lost a day?"

"You had a vision hours ago and you went comatose," Angel said. "Do you remember what the vision was?"

"Hell no! Am I still getting paid?"

"What about me?" Willow asked, frowning at the magical supplies. "Why can't I remember my morning kiss?"

"How could the spell backfire like this, Giles?" Buffy asked.

"I'd say it did the trick, myself," Giles responded. "Cordelia's awake now."

"At the compromise of both of their memories?" Buffy sighed.

"It's okay, Buff," Cordelia assured her. "Sounds like a boring day anyway. What time is it?"

* * *

"It's not a good time for you to go anywhere, Galen," Mary said, trying to compile the documents she needed to look over.

"I need to go, Mary," Galen insisted.

"Galen, Brenda made a recommendation against it, and you're on watch now as a potential danger to yourself."

"She was trying to stop me from going there and threatened to take away Vancouver!" Galen shouted. "It's one of my coping strategies, and she _knows_ that! She _hates_ me!"

"Brenda's actions were questionable, I know that, and I apologize for how she behaved, but I'm not sure if it's the best thing for you to go out for a couple nights," Mary said.

"The therapist said that I need to find better ways to deal with my stress," Galen said. "But the library and my dog are how I deal with my stress. She tried to take those both away, Mary, I never wanted to hurt anyone, not even me. And all of this… is really stressing me out. I just need somewhere quiet for a little while. Please."

Mary sighed softly, barely able to understand why her co-worker had snapped or how to deny Galen after he'd been viciously mistreated at a very bad time. "The truth is, I don't have any time to drive you there and supervise."

"Eamon could supervise me," Galen suggested. "Couldn't he? We get along good."

"You sure do," Mary agreed, knowing that Eamon was the most trustworthy out of the patients, the only one that didn't act like an overgrown child. "I'll look into it and see what I can do."

* * *

"I can't believe you played Mary so well," Eamon said. "No, wait. I can't decide whether I should be more disbelieving about you playing Mary or about you volunteering me as chaperone and having her _agree to it._"

"The trick is to mix the lies into the truth," Galen said, rolling his apple in one hand. "Makes it easier to swallow."

Eamon snorted with amusement. "Public library's here."

"Good. We need to keep going straight and then take a left turn."

"Not going to the library, then," Eamon clucked his tongue as they continued on, leaving the library far behind. "Galen's a naughty boy."

Galen pulled Eamon short, grasping his arm fiercely, dark lenses projecting a phantom glare. "If you rat me out in any way, I will kill you."

"Oh, yeah?" Eamon arched an eyebrow. "With what weapon?"

"I'll use a spoon," Galen said, releasing Eamon's arm. "I don't need anything else."

"A deadly spoon," Eamon said, with deadpan amusement as they began walking again. He lightly touched Galen's arm to let him know he was right beside him, but had the feeling that he was the one being guided now. Galen knew this route already.

"I'd stab it right into your eye, and through the optical nerve into your brain," Galen said.

Eamon was doubtful that Galen would actually use a spoon or even kill him, but had no doubt that he would end up on the receiving end of fiery vengeance. He let Galen guide him, Vancouver already doing his job of keeping Galen from running into walls or posts. When Galen suggested where there should be a turn, Eamon helped him then, but other than that his presence was almost unnecessary.

"We're here," Galen said as they approached the outside of a large hotel. "I think so, anyway."

Vancouver seemed to confirm the idea, guiding Galen towards the building.

"Watch it; door," Eamon warned, nudging Couver out of the way enough so he could open the door for Galen.

"Boyfriend's here," Dawn whispered to Buffy.

Take-out covered the table; tons of Chinese food that Xander had chipped in to pay for and was now chipping in to eat. Fred had her tacos her three boys were guarding their shares of the Chinese food. Buffy and Dawn, as Summers, had the same tendency to protect their food fiercely and Kennedy was protective of Willow, who was still confused over missing a day.

"Hello to you," Giles called out to the men while Buffy scooted to her feet and went to Galen.

"Hey," she said, stopping in front of him, and eyeing the strange man for a second. "Who is this?"

"My other seeing eye dog," Galen joked. "Is it safe?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Buffy nodded. "The, uh, fortress is more secure," she explained, taking Galen's elbow and guiding him forward. "The floor is very, very clean. We have loads of Chinese food. You want?"

"Want," Galen repeated, and held out his hand. "I brought you an apple."

"Oh, thank you," Buffy blinked, looking at the near-perfect apple, and took the offering. "Looks delicious."

"I take it you come here often," the man said to Galen, following them.

"Last time, there were giant cockroaches. Big as dogs," Galen said to Eamon, half turned in his direction. "And it was… so… nasty. Couver was there. They followed me home."

"They followed you home?" Buffy repeated with a frown.

"And they crawled inside her. Inside…see? And they yelled."

"How much medication did they give you?" Eamon questioned, cupping Galen's face in his hands and tipping his glasses to make sure the other's man's eyes weren't too dilated.

"About 500 zillion milligrams too much," Galen huffed with a melty grin.

"I concur," Eamon couldn't help but return Galen's infectious smile, and he didn't know why. "He's okay. I mean, besides in the head, but even your best man doesn't need that."

"I didn't catch your name," Buffy said to Eamon, and if there was a bit of fierceness to her tone, it couldn't be helped.

"Eamon, and Buffy," Galen said. "He lives with me. I like him, but he isn't my boyfriend."

"I'll take your word for it," Buffy said, trying to hide her amusement. "Do you want boneless ribs or chicken?"

"Are the ribs still warm?"

"You betcha they are," Buffy answered, pulling Galen to sit on the floor near her plate of food. Vancouver joined them, settling down with little more than a glance at the feast lurking over his head.

"Give me your hand," Buffy said, and set a prime sampling of boneless ribs in Galen's palm.

"Did I miss any more fun and excitement?"

"Hmm…" Buffy bit her bottom lip, knowing she could never tell him all that had happened. "Nope. Not a thing. Just a dull old day."

Galen tilted his head a bit, licking yummy rib grease off of his fingertips. "You sound like you're lying. But if you're not, I'd really not rather know what you consider a normal day."

"What do you do here?" Eamon asked curiously.

"This is the headquarters for Angel Investigations," Angel said to Eamon, trying to make him feel more welcomed. "My staff and I work here; Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn, and Fred. I'm Angel."

"Nice place," Eamon nodded.

"And I'm Buffy, and these are my friends, Willow, Kennedy, Xander, Giles, and my sister, Dawn," she stopped, almost wishing she could mention Galen, and let the man know how special it was to her for Galen to be there with them. "Fred kind of hijacked your friend from the library a few days ago, and he's been visiting ever since."

"Ah. Sorry if he's bothered you."

"He isn't a bother," Buffy replied.

"You must not know him very well, then," Eamon teased.

"Why, what is the essential Galen?" Dawn asked.

"Bitchy," Eamon grinned when Galen reached out to swat him. "And more endearing than any self-respecting man has a right to be. Can't blame you for snatching him up. If you weren't taken by him, you'd have to be right… blind."

"I can has more food?" Galen asked, and Buffy held his palm out flat with one hand, dropping more of the rich red meat with the other hand.

"How much _do_ you know about him?" Eamon asked wonderingly, aware of Galen's ability to play people who pitied him.

"We know about the medical conditions, the amnesia, and that he lives in a home," Angel said.

"Of course you do, you're detectives," Eamon tried not to sound too snarky, but wasn't entirely impressed by the Obvious.

"If you question the game, you forfeit your winnings," Galen warned him.

"What I'd really like to know is, when did they started renaming John Does?" Angel said to Eamon. "And while we're at it, I'm kind of curious who 'they' might be. What branch of authority is reigning over his well-being?"

"I wouldn't know," Eamon shrugged, actually thinking hard on it. "John Does get added to a missing persons registry, and get shelter. But they renamed him kind of quick. I mean, as far as he knows he hasn't even been around for more than a year, and I've only known him a few months, but he was given a name long before I met him."

"Why would they just rename him?" Willow frowned. "Was there even an attempt to find any relatives?"

"You know, aside from the database, I sincerely doubt that they would bother doing that kind of thing."

"That's too bad," Buffy said. "But, you know, I'd like to have him be with us – as opposed to some institution."

"There's plenty of room here," Angel added. "And someone is always around, so accommodations are far from scarce."

"I'm not his keeper," Eamon shrugged, although a bit concerned for Galen. "Though I'm not sure how easily they would give him up to a bunch of strangers."

"It's your choice," Buffy said to Galen. "What do you think?"

"I think…" Galen reached out to pet Vancouver protectively. The dog was soft and warm, as always, willingly accepting his affections. "I'm not going anywhere that Couver can't come. I don't care where it is. I won't go."

"Vancouver can come," Buffy promised.

"Then, I think, maybe you just wouldn't want me."

"Of course we would want you," Buffy asserted softly.

"If you're going to claim him, you should do it quickly," Eamon suggested. "Things have gone to shit just a smudge since they figured out he's been skipping his nighttime dose."

"They said it was bad," Galen said to Eamon. "That I oughtn't have done that. That it made things off in my head."

"Bullshit," Eamon denounced the idea immediately.

"But I done bad," Galen whimpered. "So that's got to be true."

"She was being an insufferable bitch," Eamon said to Galen. "If I'd known…. Well. What you did was considerably sane, if misdirected. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Buffy glanced between Eamon and Galen, becoming more concerned by Galen's shamefully bent head. An abstract notion of what the bad deed was formed in her mind involuntarily, and she couldn't leave it up to uncertainties any longer. "What did you do?" she questioned gently, made more apprehensive by Galen's uneasy shifting.

He toyed with his sleeves, keeping them down low and clutching the ends in his fists. She would be angry, he realized, and then immediately chastised himself. She would not be angry with him – at least, he really didn't think so. She would be disappointed in him, and that was a far more devastating thought than having her angry with him. If she were angry, at least he could call her a bitch and be done with it. If she was disappointed then… he was the bitch, and no one else.

As much as he wanted to show her, and tell here; explain everything and make her understand, he didn't begin to have the words. He wanted to flee, but the best that he could do was make himself as small as possible.

"You're my friend, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," Buffy replied immediately, leaving him more fearful because it didn't promise anything.

"Then you mustn't yell," Galen said, unable to offer himself any assurances that he didn't deserve. He drew back his left sleeve first, stretching out his arm to fully expose the marks he distinctly felt but could never see, and then the other arm was bared and both rested on his knees for her to plainly see.

The vivid colors horrified Buffy immediately, but she silently drank in the violets mottling Galen's pale skin.

"What did you do?" Buffy finally repeated, not much more than a bewildered whisper.

"It's called wrist-banging," Eamon said when Galen didn't respond. "One of the less destructive forms of self-abuse, but still not good."

"Why would you do that to yourself?" Buffy questioned, nothing close to an accusation tainting her tone, as her fingers lightly touched Galen's wrists and guided them closer to her. She couldn't wrap her head around just how horrifically deep the colors were. Even her worst bruises from strong punches had a few spots of blackish-blue, and lots of yellow. Maybe there was a vast difference between a slayer's bruises and those of a human. Either that, or he had unleashed more force and violence on his own wrists than she could conceive.

"It's complicated," Galen managed to say. Any hope of being able to explain himself was long dead by now. "You hate me?"

The silence made him pull away, but Buffy grasped his uninjured hand and pulled his arm closer again, pressing light kisses to the tender, damaged flesh.

Galen shivered and then laughed, for fear of letting out a sob, and then fell dead silent altogether in favor of closing his eyes. It was too painfully ironic, that he would hurt himself to keep from crying over losing this, only to cry when he didn't.

* * *

Eamon held his peace while walking home, after many heated spoon-related threats every time he opened his mouth. Instead, he did what he was supposed to – make sure Galen made it back safely without being stalker-molested by any weirdos. And if Galen kept twitching and nervously grinning, with inexplicable bits of laughter every thirty seconds, he really couldn't be blamed. Apparently the gorgeous blonde woman had burst a couple happy brain cells in his friend's head when she laid her lips on him. Imagine if they had actually kissed.

The placid appearance of the home didn't fool Eamon for a second, especially when he saw Mary sitting down to coffee with a visitor.

"We have company," Eamon said casually to Galen, so the other man wouldn't be taken by surprise.

"Who?" Galen asked.

"Don't rightly know," Eamon replied, but he didn't like how both women looked at Galen purposefully, rising to their feet.

"Glad you're back," Mary said, not mentioning that they were twenty minutes later than she had anticipated. "This lovely woman came to check in with you, Galen. We were just chatting. Eamon, would you please go to your room and give us a bit of privacy?"

Eamon really didn't like that idea, but he kept his mouth shut and left anyway.

"Galen," Mary began when the three were alone, taking his hand to guide into a handshake with the visitor. "I'd like you to meet Lilah Morgan."

"We've met before, actually," Lilah said, with a well-practiced smile.

"Have we?" Galen wondered, half focused.

"You don't remember me?" Lilah asked innocently. "I was around when you came to and were diagnosed with your retrograde amnesia. I've ensured most of your medical accommodations."

"Oh," Galen realized, feeling stupid. "I suppose I should thank you, then."

"Please, it's not necessary," Lilah said with a gratuitous smile. "Really. I've just heard you had a rough time recently. A bit of a relapse. How are you now?"

"Good," Galen answered. "Better. Just a bit tired, at the moment."

"Well, I won't hold you up any longer," Lilah promised him. "Just another thing; have you regained any of your memory?"

"No," Galen admitted.

Lilah pressed her lips together. "Ah. That's a shame. Well, I'll be on my way so you can get your rest. And incase it hasn't been addressed, I personally apologize for the rude treatment from the on-duty nurse. She'll be dealt with accordingly."

"Thank you."

Vancouver growled softly when Lilah passed by, maintaining a rigid wall between her and Galen until she left.

Galen let his mind go into a haze after that, just acting out the routine. Dog harness, pills, bathroom, blah, blah, blah. The end of the night was much more satisfying when he finally stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed, resting his weary bones.

He slid his arms over the cool sheets and then brought his wrist up to brush against his cheek, trying to recreate the way Buffy's lips had felt against his skin. Nothing could compare, however, no matter how lightly he brushed his skin against what. Nothing was as good as that moment had been, and the idea of it all made him feel dizzy.

He tried to imagine how beautiful she might be, but had not the slightest idea. Wished he had asked to touch her face, and wondered at what that might feel like, to trace beautiful skin under his fingertips.

His mind was restless, going over his turmoil and fortune again and again until he was exhausted and desperate for rest. He couldn't even settle in until he urged Vancouver up onto his bed and laid his head close to his companion's warm chest. He fell asleep that way, hugging Vancouver and imaging more kisses from Buffy, but he dreamed of nothing.


	16. Affliction

**A/N: warning for mentions of self-harm ahead**

* * *

"He loves you," Willow said when she sat down in Kennedy's lap at the breakfast table.

Buffy froze, her mouth half full of cornflakes. "Huh?"

Willow smiled, turning an apple in her hands while Kennedy stroked her hair indulgently. "Galen. He loves you."

"How is this a revelation?" Dawn asked, having made up her mind on everything days ago.

"Dawn," Buffy said lightly after she swallowed her food. "He doesn't, Willow. He can't."

"He can. He does," Willow countered playfully.

Buffy rolled her eyes and set down her fork. "Fine, I'll bite. How do you know for sure?"

"He gave you an apple last night," Willow said with a smile, wiggling her apple to remind Buffy, as the one Galen had presented Buffy had already been eaten the night before.

"I thought apples were for teachers," Dawn said. "Technically speaking, he should have brought Fred an apple. Not that I'd like him to."

"Apples _are_ a symbol of wisdom," Willow admitted. "But they're also a symbol of immortality, and health… and _love_. There's lots of lore about apples. Warming an apple in your hands and giving it to your beloved is like presenting your love to them. And if they eat from the apple, it means that they return your love." Willow smiled meaningfully at Buffy and then turned to smile at Kennedy, giving the apple to Kennedy.

The dark-haired slayer grinned and bit deeply into the apple, then thoroughly kissed her lover.

"That isn't fair," Buffy protested softly. "It was just an apple."

"And so what if it wasn't?" Dawn stabbed lazily at her food. "What if he had deliberately given you the apple for those reasons? Would you have treated it any differently?"

"No," Buffy pouted and took a spoonful of cornflakes, glaring sullenly at the milk dribbling out of her spoon. "That's why it isn't fair."

* * *

For the fourth time that morning, Vancouver whined and pawed at the door from inside Galen's room.

Eamon sighed and looked at the clock, which was slightly past eleven.

Mary had the same reaction, but with more responsibility and distaste mixed in. "He's missed breakfast."

"He never eats anyway," Rachel responded passively.

"All the more reason to have a healthy meal once in a while," Mary stated.

Vancouver whined, nose pressed against the bottom of the door.

"Just let the dog out," Addison suggested, a bit irritated.

"Keep it in there," Dunstan retorted. "We don't need it out here."

"Galen will want Couver with him when he wakes up," Eamon said sensibly.

"What if the thing's got to shit?" Addison suggested crudely.

Eamon sighed and got up, deciding to take the opportunity to wake Galen anyway, although Vancouver's whines could have woken the dead. "I'll get him," Eamon said vaguely, going to Galen's door and knocking lightly before opening it. Vancouver stood at the door, and then backed away and sat down when he saw Eamon, rather than running out of the room.

Only somewhat perplexed, Eamon entered the room and walked alongside Galen's bed, trying not to let himself admire the pale curve of his friend's naked back, or the way his hair was mussed. He sat down on the bed without any particular care, impressed when Galen didn't stir.

"Come on, get up," Eamon encouraged out of obligation, pressing his hands against Galen to shake him lightly, silently savoring the touch of skin. "Rachel needs someone to harass," he added, reminding himself that he oughtn't act like her. He pulled the sheets down from Galen, knowing that, above all else, Galen was bitterly spiteful towards being cold, hence so much snuggling on couches.

Almost as soon as Eamon had moved the sheets, he jumped up. "SHIT!" he yelped, making Vancouver whine again. The dog pressed his nose into the blood-stained sheets, and then gingerly licked at Galen's scarlet red wrists.

* * *

The potion smelled like molded cheese mixed with frog slime, and didn't taste much better. Cordelia gagged when it slowly slid down her throat and, with watery eyes, complained that Willow wasn't being forced to drink the awful stuff.

"We don't need her memories," Wesley replied. "You were the one who had the vision."

"Well, by now whatever it was has probably already happened," Cordelia pointed out. "These things usually happen only a few hours afterwards."

"No, Sugar Mama, this is bigger than your typical vision," Lorne assured her. "Could happen days from now. The fact that someone went all out to scramble your warning message has me worried. All I picked up was a blurry signal when you sang for me."

"What do you think it could be?" Angel asked Lorne.

"An apocalypse?" Lorne guessed. "You're all thinking it; I don't need Sylvia Brown to tell me that. Could it have anything to do with your pretty blonde hero coming back? I don't know. And I don't mean the slayer."

Angel's expression changed to astonishment. "You know that it's really Spike?"

"Angelcakes, I was just going off what you told me for that one. I couldn't tell you whether he's human or a transmogrified antelope until I have him sing for me."

"Could you do that?" Willow asked hopefully from the couch, where she sat with her laptop on her knees. "Would you come back tonight and listen to him sing?"

"I'd love to."

"That wouldn't fly too well," Cordelia reminded them. "His cute friend has to come now, and he isn't exactly blind. Green tends to disturb the normal people. Sorry, Lorne."

"I get it," Lorne shrugged. "But if you can think of a way, I'd be willing to help. Not only do I owe you about a dozen favors by now, but I'm curious myself."

"It's a peculiar thing," Wesley agreed, checking his watch. "The potion should begin fulfilling its purpose in another ten minutes. You may feel a bit nauseous."

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!"

Galen groaned when he woke to the yelling, and someone nearly pulling him out of bed.

Eamon breathed harshly, trying to calm himself down when he saw how startled Galen looked. He couldn't handle this, finding Galen for the second time with severe wrist damage, especially after Galen had been so calm and ashamed and promised not to do it again. He'd trusted the little shit, and the fact that Galen had somehow bloodied his wrists made him want to cry in frustration and hatred for making Galen worry him sick like this. But it wouldn't help to act the same way Brenda had.

"What's going on?" Mary demanded, coming into the room.

"He's bleeding," Eamon said, barely realizing he had taken Galen's wrists in his hands and was keeping tight pressure on them. "Get bandages."

They had him in the kitchen within half a minute, with a dishtowel covering his wrists while Mary quickly fetched the first aid kit. Galen shivered from the chill, no longer in his warm bed, and with too much naked skin. A horrible pain through his eyes that throbbed in his brain made him cringe, and he felt too weak to even focus. He came back to alertness when Mary pulled his wrists forward, removing the dampened towel. She had latex gloves on, per protocol.

"Why did you do this, Galen?" Mary demanded, her voice quiet, but harsh in a way that made him curl away inside. "You need to talk about this, right now."

"Wh-wh-what d-did I d-d-do?" Galen stammered, barely able to breathe. His throat and chest felt tight, and his wrists still _hurt_.

Mary frowned at Eamon and he plainly didn't understand either. He turned his focus on Galen, who was trembling uncontrollably now. "Galen, you told us that you weren't going to do this again. Why didn't you talk to someone?"

"I-I-I… I didn't d-_do_…_anything_."

Eamon shook his head, dismayed by the lies as he looked down at the blood-sopped skin. "They're cut, Galen."

"I didn't do anything!" Galen repeated angrily, fearfully.

"How deep are the slits?"

Eamon lifted his head and glared at Rachel, who was leaning idly in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the living room, watching them with morbid fascination. "Shut your mouth," he snapped at her, but she showed no visible reaction to his rudeness, just continued to watch.

"Eamon, could you please get him to the sink so I could clean the cuts and apply some bandages?" Mary requested.

He nodded wordlessly and took Galen to the sink, turning on lukewarm water and washing away the blood. He stared, dumbfounded, when the bright blood washed away, and not a single scratch marred the discolored skin.

"There's…" Eamon trailed off, words useless as Mary picked up Galen's wet and still slightly bloody arm to look at closely. Tiny beads of red appeared on the skin, gradually growing larger, to the size of small raindrops, which then collected together and ran off his wrist in a thread-thin stream.

"I didn't slash 'em," Galen whimpered very softly. "What's wrong with 'em?"

"Maybe… the bruises…" Eamon suggested.

"The bruises what?" Mary asked skeptically. "How could the skin just bleed?"

"Blood can be drawn out of the skin," Eamon said crossly. "Just think of hickies, for example. There's so much blood trapped under his skin, I… I shouldn't even be surprised."

Another thread of blood ran off of Galen's wrist, followed by another, and blood droplets dripped from his other arm, running down over his palm.

From the doorway, Rachel giggled softly. "Galen's got his monthlies."

* * *

"Is it working?" Angel questioned.

"Besides the nausea?" Cordelia grumbled, feeling the urge to puke. "Not really."

"Try to think of the vision you had yesterday," Wesley urged.

"I told you, I don't remember anything up until I woke up in bed."

"It may seem as if a dream," Wesley said patiently. "But any scrap of information could be useful."

"Nothing comes to mind," Cordelia insisted. "But you'd better pray I don't get sick from your stupid potion. It was nasty enough going down; I don't need it coming back up."

Fred was on the floor, piecing together her prized flamethrower. Parts and tools were spread out for her to easily keep an eye on each component and find whatever she needed.

"I find it very peculiar," she said, tightening the barrel.

"What would that be?" Wesley wondered.

"The effects that Cordelia and Willow are suffering," Fred said.

"_I'm_ the one suffering here," Cordelia stressed, envious of Willow, who was on her laptop and not nauseous at all.

"Amnesia," Fred said. "And seemingly specific. If I recall correctly our dear friend also has amnesia."

"No one's arguing about that," Angel agreed. "But we don't know what her vision was telling us."

"I'm sorry," Cordelia breathed, feeling no enlightening memories return, just lightheadedness and unease. "Really, I don't think the potion worked. I don't feel good." She licked her dry lips, further nauseated by a light, metallic taste in her mouth, like blood. Dizziness added to the sickened feeling and she slowly retreated to a chair, sitting very still to keep her stomach at rest. She felt positively miserable now.

* * *

The day was nothing but misery, and Galen was having a considerably awful day. The best he'd felt since waking up was at that very moment, wrapped up in bandages and a warm blanket on the couch.

Something was plaguing him, and he wondered why the thought hadn't occurred to him before. He should have, when Rachel had only teased him for a few minutes and then left him alone, or when Mary had silently wrapped his wrists, or when Dunstan had given him God's blessing and made himself scarce.

The seeds of doubt where planted. His stomach was empty; his throat was full of acid. Everything he'd eaten last night had ended up in bloody chunks at the bottom of the toilet. Mary said it wasn't a good sign, but she just gave him some medicine and set him on the couch. He felt sick as a dog, shaking and ice cold.

Nothing helped much at settling his stomach; he only felt better after he had nothing left in him to throw up. And even though he felt like he was going to die from the cold, he was warm to the touch.

He should have known when no one objected to Rachel holding him, not even himself. She was too warm and too generously attentive to refuse. But he only realized the truth when Mary couldn't contact his doctor, and when she nervously decided that it was okay, because he wasn't sick anymore, and they would be alright if they waited. It was obvious when Eamon wouldn't talk to him, and Mary took Eamon to her office for a moment of privacy. The seconds seemed to bleed into hours and Galen thought his brain would cook and leak out of his ears.

He was going to die.

* * *

"Wow, that sucks. Did you heave yet?"

Cordelia lifted her head enough to glare at the dark-haired girl. "Why are you here?"

"Early release," Dawn replied, slinging her backpack onto the couch and making Willow inch away before the teen flung herself down in the same fashion. "I decided it'd be better to come here, rather than interrupt one of Willow's nooners. But you're here, so…."

"I'm working," Willow said a bit defensively, nervous about the comment on 'nooners' and the way Gunn was looking at her.

"When I turn eighteen, Kennedy says she'll get me a free piercing or a really nice discount on a tattoo," Dawn said casually, picking at a lace on her shoe.

"Absolutely not," Angel said firmly. "You'd have to have a nice chat with Buffy about that."

"When I turn eighteen, it's not her choice," Dawn argued. "And I could either start working here or at the piercing shop."

"If you worked here, _I_ could train you-" Cordelia began.

"I'm not doing your paperwork," Dawn cut her off. "I may not have any special powers, but I'm not going to sit on the sidelines. I'm not."

"No offense, Dawn, but you're still just a kid," Angel said.

"I'm older than Buffy was when she started slaying," Dawn countered. "And I've had more training simply from living in Sunnydale and around demons. I'm not some helpless little kid anymore. And I've been thinking about some other stuff, too. I know it seems like fate or something that Spike is suddenly around. I thought that it'd be easier to figure out why he's here, but the longer he's around, I'm not entirely sure if we're _supposed_ to help him.

* * *

_He loves me, he loves me not.  
__He loves me, he loves me not.  
__**He loves me…**  
_He loves me not.

Buffy stared at the stripped flower stem in one hand, and held the last petal between her thumb and index finger.

_He loves me not_.

The dead flower mocked her. Dead like the man she had loved, dead like the man she wouldn't let herself love anymore, dead like a lot of people she knew. Maybe Galen wasn't Spike. But he was better than some assholes who had the audacity to call themselves human. He was soft and sweet with a side of unexpected strength and apparent bitchiness, according to his friend. It kept him from being too needy, too sheltered, at any rate. Those beautiful eyes were the same shade of blue topaz that she knew before. She'd seen him laugh and cry and crush a demon in his hands. She'd seen the extent of damage he had done to himself. The stresses of living in a home were going to kill him, especially if it drove him to suicide. She knew from experience what kind of boundless sorrows came when one couldn't be sure who they were or what the past held or if they had a future.

She'd seen the bruises on his skin, though, and she knew that he was a living, breathing person who was just very scared. She would kiss away every bruise if she could, but the most helpful thing to do would be to get him away from that home and keep him where he belonged. With her.

She wouldn't let him die or fade away to a shadow.

She twisted the flower stem between her fingers, making it suffer for its lies.

"He loves me," she said aloud, flicking away the remains. No flower was going to tell her otherwise.

"Summers," her supervisor's sudden presence made her jump, and she straightened up to attention, hoping he hadn't noticed her pulling at flower petals instead of patrolling her sector. Not like anything ever happened.

"You're switching off with Breau after your lunch break. East wing."

"Yes, sir," Buffy said, shifting her stance. "I take it, this is my cue to have my lunch break?"

"Get along, then."

She didn't wait for anyone to tell her twice, heading into the hospital to see what items were worth eating off of the cafeteria menu. For a moment she felt like she was in school once again, only this time she didn't have a friend in sight. Then she noticed that one of those faces wasn't so unfamiliar after all.

"Dr. Sutton?"

* * *

"There's nothing essentially wrong with you," Mary explained again to Eamon. "So my superiors find that keeping you here any longer completely unnecessary. All that would be asked of you is to keep contact with your AA sponsor. Your life is in your hands. You're a very capable man. We wish you the best of luck."

"You want me out tonight?" Eamon asked incredulously.

Mary shifted her stance, holding her clipboard against her chest and pressing her lips together nervously. "I don't want you to take it like I'm forcing you out, Eamon. You don't need to be here anymore. I know this is very sudden, but we need the bed for a new patient."

"Right," Eamon breathed softly, wondering why he ever got so attached to the place. He knew very well it wasn't anywhere near lasting. "This is going to kill him."

Only a brief look of confusion crossed Mary's eyes before she knew exactly what he meant. "It isn't right, I know, but he's too dependent on you now. He'll get over it and be stronger for it. Do you want me to tell him?"

"No," Eamon decided quickly. "Don't tell him at all. I'll take care of it. He's in a very delicate state of mind, Mary."

She drew in a slow breath and held it. "I know that. Would you personally recommend a suicide watch?"

"Yes. …This isn't right at all," Eamon shook his head and closed his eyes. Galen was already on the brink of a suicidal meltdown. All of his emotional ties were precarious but firmly rooted. It frightened him to think about what might happen as soon as Galen lost another person. He liked to think that they were very close, but at that very moment in time, he wished that he wasn't. Eamon opened his eyes again to stare soberly at Mary. "I'm worried about what effects this might cause him. But since there's no point in arguing against this, could you do me a final favor, darling?"

"That would depend on what you're asking."

"I just want to spend a final night with him," Eamon told her. "I'll take him for a walk and you can pick us up at the library. I'll break the news easy to him, so that it won't be so bad."

"I don't know about that," Mary began.

"It'll most likely be his last time out, won't it?" Eamon pointed out. "Don't let it be, Mary. He can't be caged so much. He's still a man, inarguably, and a man has needs, freedom being the most important amongst them. He isn't ill, but this place makes him that way. You know as well as I do that he shouldn't be here."

"Alright," Mary said after a pause for thought. "I'll give you the night, but I want to make sure he gets his dosage first."

Eamon kept his jaw shut. _And I'll see to it that you don't._


	17. End of the Line

Blood trickled through gritty metal grates, and dripped through into an endless pipe where only darkness and demons lived. From within the darkest depths, the unmistakable sound of swarming insects rose to deafening levels.

A quick tempo separated from the din, which then slowed and deepened to a steady pulse. The quiet drumming made the other sounds fade away, and sent ripples over dark waters.

Blackness swept in with consciousness and Galen opened his eyes to semi-darkness when the world shifted underneath his head.

"Lay back down," Rachel murmured, disappointed when he pulled away from her overly warm body instead, leaning his fevered head against cooler fabric.

* * *

It was difficult to even keep his head up, now, to listen to the woman blather on. Angel had promised himself not to slay clients – especially the purportedly not evil, human ones – but it was damn tempting just to get rid of the screaming in his brain.

"—got to be some sort of little she-devil. Now my Marshall seems to make any excuse to get away from me and the only time he's even home he'll barely get his lazy hide off of the couch. I have half a mind to—"

"Excuse me," Angel cut into the unending stream of words, beginning to understand why her husband apparently avoided her. "Is there something I'm supposed to help you with?"

She looked deeply offended – he still wasn't sure of her name, or had forgotten it – and then puffed herself up. "I want you to follow my husband and see if he's at that she-devil's house. I'm sure he is, and if that's his idea of 'overtime,' then he's—"

"Sorry," Angel said curtly, pushing the materials she'd laid on his desk towards her in a gesture of turning her away. "We aren't that kind of detective agency."

Her hand went to her chest, surprised. "You won't take my money?"

"No."

"Well what sort of cases are you looking for, then?" she demanded, pulling the papers away slowly and tediously stuffing them into her purse, as if to draw out the process in hopes that he would change his mind. "Missing persons?"

"Among other things," Angel replied.

"I don't see how you'll ever make a profit if you treat your customers this way. Really, you shouldn't turn away legitimate business offers."

"We just have our priorities in order," Angel answered.

"Well, then," she said, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Well, then. I know my way out."

Angel stood up as she opened his office door and watched her march out of the lobby. She cast a final sneer at Cordelia, who only twitched an eyebrow in disapproval.

"What was that about?" Cordelia questioned after the woman left and Angel exited his office.

"I turned away her case," Angel replied, feeling only slightly guilty about it.

"What? An actual case? Like the kind that pays us money?"

"We're a detective agency, not a marriage counseling service," Angel said. "And we have bigger things to take care of right now, other than juggling around trivial cases."

"I'd say," Lorne agreed. "Because your boy being here – a vampire mystically returning from the dead – that's gonna bring some sort of trouble in the form of I-don't-what."

"If an undead human is a vampire, is an undead vampire a human?" Dawn wondered aloud.

The front door swung open, and Buffy entered in a small whirlwind of motion, stripping off as much of her uniform as possible. "Guess who I ran into today?"

"You never get tired of guessing games, do you?" Cordelia sighed.

"Your boyfriend?" Dawn guessed.

"His doctor."

* * *

"You've been sleeping for hours," Eamon said, patting Galen's face vigorously to make the other man more alert. "You need to look alive, or we might not get out of here." He stopped and took Galen's shoulders in an iron hold, trying to keep his attention. "Don't you want to see your pretty girlfriend?"

"Blind."

"Well… shut up," Eamon frowned. "No need to get all shirty about it. She's head over heels for you. Can't deprive the lady of your presence."

"When did you find time to get a girlfriend?"

Galen jumped at Rachel's voice. "Satan!"

"This is the men's room," Eamon said disapprovingly, staring at Rachel, who was leaning into the doorway.

"Excuse me? This is the _only_ bathroom," Rachel said, pushing the doorway open further to lean inside. "What are you two doing in here? …With each other? And more importantly, why haven't I been invited?"

"You would never be invited," Eamon informed her. "Go away."

"No," Rachel pushed the door open a little more and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind her with a sense of entrapment to it. "You stole Galen out of my lap to play the groping game in the bathroom, and I really need to _pee_. Now, why do you have a girlfriend? Actually, what I mean is, how?"

"Don't tell her anything," Eamon advised Galen.

"She isn't my girlfriend," Galen fussed.

"You've been seeing other girls?" Rachel asked, playing jealous. "Is she pretty at least?"

"She's a real woman, if that's what you mean," Eamon retorted.

The idea that Eamon knew what Buffy looked like made Galen heatedly jealous for a minute. However, when he remembered that Eamon didn't know her true side, it made him feel better.

Rachel was watching Galen carefully, and was a bit appalled by what she saw. "You want her."

"What? I don't want anyone."

"That's bull. Look, I could understand if you were gay for Eamon, but if you actually fall in love with another woman, I'd have to be upset," Rachel told him. "What does she have that I don't have?"

"Self-respect."

Rachel froze for a second, considering it. "Alright, fair enough. Is she a good kisser?"

"I'm… I'm not discussing this with you."

"You haven't even kissed her? Jesus, she could kiss like a drunken elephant for all you know."

Galen's lips quirked in withheld laughter. "Like you?"

"Shut up. You really should kiss her," Rachel encouraged. "Since you think Eamon is such hot stuff, you'll have something to compare her against. If she's better than him, then you're in the clear, but if she isn't, or if you don't try, then how do you know you're not just hot for man tongue? Or Eamon's tongue?"

"Guh. Blegh. I think I vomited a little bit in my mouth," Galen gasped out, shoving past her to get to the door. "Excuse me."

"You'll never get her to kiss you with vomit breath," Rachel said, exasperated by his leaving. She gave Eamon a lengthy glare before snatching a bottle of mouthwash and thrust it at him. "Take care of your boyfriend; just get the hell out of the bathroom already."

"If you tell anyone about this, Galen is going to drive silverware through your eye into your brain," Eamon warned her. "His words, not mine."

Rachel didn't so much as blink. "I'm never going to get to watch or participate whether or not he chooses you or Miss Sally May, so why should I care?"

The man sighed and twisted the cap on the bottle of mouthwash while he decided. "If you'll be good, I can get you and Galen out of medication tonight."

Her head cocked slightly in surprise, trying to judge Eamon's sincerity. "You'd do that for me?"

"No. I'm doing it for him."

* * *

"I'm sorry, but I just couldn't find anything whatsoever," Willow said. "I had a nagging suspicion, and I was right – I could find Giles' name as a patient in their records, but no 'Galen Bristol.' No John Does, either, at least none remotely matching our guy."

"That can't be right," Buffy scratched her neck, frowning. "They keep a file of everyone, even if it's just a check-up."

"I know that," Willow sighed. "So it means that it's definitely hidden."

"And that means red flags, people," Angel stated. "The hospital might be full to the brim with evil. Stuff we've never imagined before."

"We're not launching a bloody crusade," Wesley objected firmly.

"I can't wait around here," Buffy said.

"Well, you won't have to," Wesley said, glancing at his watch. "Not very long, anyway. It's about that time."

Buffy also glanced at her watch, and itched her neck apprehensively, feeling grimy from the day. "You're right. I… I should… take a shower."

* * *

The shouting made Galen cringe, and Vancouver tensed beside him in a response to his master's unease. His head was starting to throb from the noise. He didn't quite hear Mary say an excuse to him, but he felt her presence leave, and he felt Rachel's elbow when she bumped it into him.

"Do it quick," Rachel hissed at him, tipping the small plastic cup in his hand and transferring the pills to his pocket. She had done the same thing to hers, and nudged him again to drink his water.

He quickly sipped at the bitter tap water, making a face of distaste by the time Mary returned to collect the empty cups.

"All gone?" she asked pleasantly, taking note of Galen's slight nod and Rachel's usual look of resentment. "Very good."

* * *

"I'm gonna puke," Galen muttered by the time they neared the Hyperion.

"Oh, no, you're not," Eamon quickly asserted, tugging on Galen's sleeve to prevent him from slowing to a standstill. "Take some slow, deep breaths until you feel better."

"I'll feel better if I puke."

"You really shouldn't," Eamon said, sighing in defeat when Galen pulled away from him entirely. He turned around to what he expected, Galen doubled over and breathing deeply. A small retching sound made him grimace and turn his head, but when dead silence followed he felt brave enough to look at his friend again.

"False alarm," Galen said, almost upbeat. "I forgot, I have to feel ten times worse before I heave. We can go now."

"Wonderful," Eamon said dryly. "I can't imagine why anyone would find you anything other than sexy."

"Yeah, I'm pure sex," Galen rumbled as Eamon dragged him along again.

"Alright, stud. Well, your woman obviously thinks that you're pure something or other, so you'd better not keep her waiting."

"She's not my—"

"Yeah, yeah. Look, you're already, like, forty years old or something—"

"_Fourty_!"

"—so you don't have _time_ for all of the foolish 'maybe-I-am, maybe-she's-not' crap. You could drop dead at any moment, for chrissakes. Leave the dramatic romancing to the young whippersnappers."

"I _hate_ you!"

"Wrong. I'm going to be the best friend you've ever had."

"I'm not _old_."

"Well. You're not young, either. But that's good, and all, since your entire existence doesn't revolve around sex. I think the ladies appreciate that."

"But I look like I'm dying," Galen muttered. "Thanks ever so."

Eamon sighed softly and took his friend's arm. "You look incredibly well. Trust me, because I'm a horrible, shallow person, and I find you very handsome."

"Ah. Aha. You're going to confess true love now?"

"If she breaks your heart, don't come crying to me," Eamon threw in.

"I don't know if I'm physically _capable_ of doing that," Galen replied.

"Don't you take the piss," Eamon warned him. "I mean it."

"You're the one who started off on this," Galen rounded on him. "And could you take it into consideration for two seconds that if my existence _had_ to revolve around sex, I would be _dead_?"

"Like you're the only one?" Eamon scoffed. "It's the affliction of men. Congratulations, you're human now."

"Thanks, that's so great to hear," Galen muttered.

"Well, at least you know what to look forward to," Eamon pointed out, letting Galen enter the building, amused by his church-like silence. He didn't have the same reverence for all of the people in the hotel. Not anymore.

"Like what?" Galen asked him.

"One day… you'll be fully alive," Eamon said, knowing the turn of phrase was well received by Galen's quick smirk of appreciation. "Hopefully that'll be wonderful for you. I'm just saying… don't waste your time with anything less. That'll kill you."

"Hey," Buffy called out her greeting, crossing over to the men. She glanced Galen over, appraising him. Today he wore jeans and a navy blue, hooded sweatshirt. She didn't particularly like how the fabric obscured his strong, attractive physique. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," he decided.

"You're feeling better, then?" Buffy concluded hopefully, taking Galen's hand with intentions of leading him to the couch and stopping when she felt the bandage.

_Worse_, _worse, much worse_, his body told him, but his heart always won out, and he felt well enough just being by her.

"What is this?" Buffy asked, beginning to draw up his sleeve when he took his hand back. She stared at him disbelievingly when he pulled off the sweatshirt, down to a black tee and the bandages on his arms. Blood had seeped through the white gauze, leaving dark, reddish stains, but Galen was oblivious to that.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," Galen shook his head, having nothing to hide. "I didn't do anything more. Believe me."

"He didn't," Eamon confirmed when Buffy looked to him. "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

"What did this, then?" Buffy questioned, deeply concerned.

"Nothing," Galen said again. "At least nothing that I know of."

"The skin itself was bleeding," Eamon tried to explain. "Not cut, besides a few broken layers of skin, but nothing substantial. I think it has something to do with how hard he hit his damn wrists, and all of the blood that built up underneath the skin. It was just seeping through, like sweat would."

"Did you tell your doctor?" Buffy wondered.

"Couldn't reach her," Galen said, and Buffy decided to remain quiet about having seen her at lunch.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Buffy said quietly, running her hands over the bandaged arms. Galen bit his lip, deciding not to tell her that it hurt.

"It's been a rough day," Eamon said. "G…. Why don't you try to get a few minutes of sleep?"

"I've slept half of the day," Galen objected weakly.

"Which isn't nearly enough as it is. I shouldn't have brought you out here whatsoever, but I know you like visiting your girlfriend."

Buffy blushed deeply at being talked about, and Galen felt similar.

"You shouldn't say that, she probably wouldn't want to – to be—"

"I told you, don't waste your time with that, didn't I?" Eamon said. He took Galen almost forcibly to the couch and pushed him down firmly, while Vancouver hovered about, nervous for his master. "Rest," Eamon commanded. "I won't let you sleep very long, and you'll feel better for it when you get up."

"I feel fine," Galen muttered, curling against the soft couch.

"Lies," Eamon said under his breath. "You're lucky as hell you're not spending your night in a hospital bed. Go to sleep so you can start dreaming."

"I'm not a child," Galen complained, lying back anyway. "I'll never fall asleep now."

"You'll crush your glasses," Eamon said, ignoring Galen as he took them away and set them on the table. He wasn't the least bit surprised when, only two minutes later, Galen had closed his eyes and was fast asleep on the couch.

'

"Splainy," Buffy said when he finally looked at the others.

"He's been sick all day," Eamon said, keeping his voice low. He moved away from the couch, directing the group towards the back of the lobby. "His sheets were positively stained with blood this morning. He lost half a pint through his wrists alone. I'm guessing that's not exactly healthy."

"It is unusual," Angel agreed, keeping his features schooled.

"Glad you agree. Wouldn't particularly care either way, because I know there's something _wrong_ here."

"What do you want us to do?"

"You're detectives," Eamon said. "He's been perfectly fine since he got off of the nighttime medication. Last night, there was a woman there when we returned."

"Do you know who she was?" Buffy asked.

"No. But she didn't seem to the bearer of good news. I heard from Rachel that they had been found out. Their prescriptions were reordered, and they had to take their pills. The next morning, he's bleeding and feverish. It was like a complete relapse; he was getting so well before."

"I don't know if that's anything substantial," Fred said regretfully.

"Well, if that isn't, then consider this," Eamon said curtly. "I'm getting kicked out, tonight. No forewarning; hardly standard protocol. I haven't told him yet. You may not like me, but once I'm gone, he's not going to be coming back here again." Eamon stressed the words gently, letting them know that it wasn't anything he wanted to happen. "Whether you feel the same or not, he's completely smitten with you. Last time he thought he wasn't going to see you again, he smashed his wrists nearly to pulp." Buffy looked briefly guilty, but continued to hold Eamon's gaze. "If he can't come back, and I'm not going to be there for him, he's liable to kill himself… if whatever's happening to him doesn't."

"Tell us to help him," Buffy said quietly.

"Take him," Eamon said. "You have to. He needs to be gone, and there isn't anyone else. I'll pay you, if need be, but I won't be able to do that up front. You don't know what it would mean to him."

"I have a vague concept," Buffy answered, throat tight.

"Will you do it?"

"Give us the location," Angel said.

Eamon gave the street address, and outlined what to say to Mary. They'd recognize her as an older woman, who would probably carry her clipboard.

Buffy wandered back to the couch, staring down at Galen, who was deep asleep on the couch. It troubled her greatly to hear about his suffering, and she wanted nothing more than to take him away from it all. They would have to wait until the next day, when Eamon said visiting hours were open, but he would finally be free. That was, if they believed that she was his girlfriend and let him go. She couldn't imagine why they wouldn't.

"I'll go with Buffy in the morning," Angel was telling the group, "To add some extra persuasion. Buffy, if you could manage a little acting in, it would go a long way."

"I'll be very dramatic," Buffy promised. Not like it would be much of a lie to begin with.

"I don't know if this will help," Eamon added, walking around the couch and reaching his hand into Galen's pocket, finally removing a couple small pills. "That's his dosage. It should probably be tested, if at all possible."

"Fred," Angel began.

"I'm on it," Fred said, quietly taking the pills and examining them. "It'll take a little while, but I should have a way to examine the chemical makeup. Do you know what any of these are?"

Eamon shook his head. "They never said, and I've never seen the bottles. The medication is kept in a locked cabinet in the office."

"We'll try to retrieve the bottles, if possible," Angel promised Fred.

"Rachel could create a diversion, while she talks to you in her office," Eamon said. "But even then, the cabinet would still be locked."

"We can handle that," Gunn said confidently.

"Once again, this borders on illegal, but I'm game," Willow said, choosing that moment to finally speak.

Dawn was grinning wickedly. "Wouldn't be as fun if it wasn't against the law."

* * *

**A/N:** **I've just found out that Retrograde has been nominated for 'Best Plot - Spuffy' at Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards! Thank you to whoever sent in the nomination! **

**If you are enjoying this story, please head over to ****http: / / sunnydawards.dragonydreams . com/vote . html**** and cast a vote for me under the 'Best Plot - Spuffy' category.**

**Thanks guys! :)**


	18. There Is No Spike

**A/N: This chapter is a lot longer than it was going to be because I figure you guys deserve it. :)**

* * *

Eamon quietly stared at Lorne's green skin and small, reddish horns. "I've seen a demon once or twice before, but never one so… festively colored."

Lorne chuckled in relief, their introduction running more smoothly than he had prepared himself for. "Well, thanks, hon."

"If my understanding is correct, most demons have special traits, don't they?" Eamon said. "What kind of ability does Mr. Lorne have?"

"He's an empath demon," Angel said.

"I can read someone while they're singing," Lorne explained. "See what's in their heart, and a little bit of their future."

"Only while they're singing?"

"That's why we want to see if you could get Galen to sing something," Fred said. "It doesn't have to be very much, and it doesn't matter what it is."

Eamon glanced towards the couch and folded his arms skeptically. "What do you expect to find?"

"We don't know," Angel said. "Maybe who he is."

"You think that's possible?"

"I know for a fact that anything is possible."

Eamon paused, looking over Lorne for a final time, with amazement. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Buffy said.

Eamon nodded and went to wake Galen. "G," he said, shaking his friend lightly. "Time to get up, buddy."

Galen mumbled something and barely opened his eyes. The feel of the couch underneath him wasn't familiar, and reminded him that he'd fallen asleep in the hotel. He stretched slowly and sat up, covering a yawn, hoping he hadn't snored. "What'd I miss?"

"Just us talking about you behind your back," Eamon answered.

"I figured as much. You people need lives," Galen cracked a smile.

A moment of silence passed, and Eamon decided it was the right time to speak. "We're going to get you out of that place, G," Eamon told him. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Galen repeated, surprised and doubtful.

"It probably sounds quick, but it won't be soon enough," Eamon said.

"How?"

Buffy walked over to him and settled down on the couch companionably. "Angel and I are going to head over during visiting hours and talk to Mary. We're going to convince them that you belong with us. Did you know that you're my long-lost boyfriend?" She willed her voice not to crack, stopping to smile, as if it were a joke. "You went missing a while ago, tragically, but I've found you again."

"Will they believe that?"

"Would you?" Buffy countered.

"Should I?"

"It'll get you out of there," Buffy told him, studying Galen's face, which reflected doubts. "But the story would be a lot more solid if you believed in it."

"It's hard to believe in anything anymore."

"Maybe it's time you found a little confidence," Buffy suggested, tilting her head in search for his downcast eyes. She leaned forward quickly and pressed a kiss onto his lips, meaning to make the action fast; just a peck for courage. When their skin actually touched, however, she had to linger for a second against the softness and ended up pulling away slowly. She bit her lip in womanly glee, watching Galen gingerly lick his lips, chasing the traces of her.

"So… do you believe it now?"

Galen sat completely still, keeping every muscle in his body very still. He held his breath for a long moment, worried that any slight movement would cause him to shudder. When he had himself completely composed and as still as concrete, he closed his eyes and drew a breath.

"Don't do that again."

The words made Buffy's blood suddenly run cold, her entire being frozen by his rejection. "What do you mean? Did I do something wrong?"

She was so… disappointed. Galen bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn't help anything. He subtly shifted his arms, pressing his thumb into his right arm, hard, while he spoke the truth. "No." He pressed harder, still, pressing hard into the preexisting bruises, though outwardly it didn't look like anything.

Confusion set in, followed by anger as Buffy tried to understand how he could just reject her. Had she read him wrong? Then she noticed his hands, and how he was jamming his thumb into his arm, hurting himself again. She pulled his hands away, and her strength prevented him from reflexively jerking out of her grasp.

"You don't have to lie to me," Buffy said purposefully. "Believe me when I say that I just want you _safe_. It defeats the entire purpose when you start hurting yourself. Just tell me that you don't want me, and I'll leave you alone, but I'll be damned if you're going to do that when I'm sitting right next to you."

"I haven't lied to you. You've got it wrong," Galen retorted, resentful of being called a liar. "I'm not going to tell I don't want you, because I _do_ like you. A lot. That's why _I'll_ be damned if I'm going to let you get sick because of me."

His assertiveness made her hesitate for a second, pondering their mutual desire to protect one another. "That's not up to you to decide."

"Well, then. Who's really the self-destructive one?" Galen asked pointedly, pulling his hands away from her. "Hypocrite."

Buffy snorted, both angry and bemused. He was just as pigheaded as ever, but she hated his twisted logic. It wasn't his fault that she had chosen to kiss her, so why would he punish himself for that? It reminded her of when he was newly souled, and would have fits of guilt and beat himself about the head. There was an incident involving sharp objects and a large gap of time when Spike had been unsupervised, but in the end it seemed he'd only done it so that they could have a large screaming argument. He didn't care much for her pity, apparently, and couldn't stand it very long.

"So much drama over a little peck on the lips," Cordelia shook her head. "Can't we just compromise? Buffy: no molesting him. Galen: absolutely no… hurting yourself of any kind. You're both adults… allegedly. You should really start acting like it." She stared at them sternly and then smiled, feeling proud of herself for making such a good little speech. "Okay, now that we have that settled, can we let Lorne do his thing?"

"Who's Lorne?" Galen asked warily, half of him not even caring. He wanted to apologize to Buffy, tell her that he didn't want her to die like he was going to, but she was likely to rebuke the idea. He didn't want her to know about or experience half of what he had to put up with. The pain in his head wouldn't let down, and he just wanted to sleep forever.

"They have this friend, Lorne," Eamon explained to him. "He's an empath demon, kind of like a psychic. He can read people when they sing. Your friends think he can help."

"He's a demon?" Galen repeated.

"The margaritas and small talk kind, not the creepy-crawly kind," Lorne said, coming forward. "I heard about your unfortunate run-in earlier. That's a rough way to find out about demons, Bud. But, uh… just looking at you, I get the sense that you've been through a lot worse. How about you tell me about it? Sing me a tune."

"What good is that going to do?" Galen frowned. "What could you possibly find out from that?"

"I won't know until I read you," Lorne replied. "But it could be a number of things. I might be able to see your past, or some recessed memories that would let me know who you are. I might be able to figure out what's got you so ill, or maybe find out what your future has in store. I promise that I won't tell them everything I see. There are some things that are supposed to be private, and I can keep a secret."

"I'm not a good singer."

"Doesn't matter. I've listened to Angelcakes belt it out, so believe me when I say I've heard some awful stuff," Lorne said, relieved when he managed to make Galen crack a small smile. "Although half of my clientele is drunk by the time they start crooning old songs from the 90's. Would it help if we got some hard liquor over here?"

Galen shook his head, and closed his eyes for a while, trying to think of a song he even knew. One finally came to mind, and he opened his eyes again, trying to find the nerve. "Just promise me one thing. Don't talk about me until I leave."

"You don't want to hear the results?" Lorne questioned.

"No. It'll just make it worse."

"Alright, have it your way, buckaroo. Start whenever you want."

Galen nervously leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He waited a few long seconds and then began to sing as well as he could manage.

"Drunk on ego. Truly thought I could make it right if I… kissed you one more time to help you face the nightmare. But you're… far too poisoned for me. Such a fool to think that I could wake you from your slumber – that I, I could actually heal you." He choked slightly and started to cough into his hands, soon finding that he couldn't stop.

The others watched in concern while Galen coughed and Lorne rubbed his head, wondering what kind of visions the demon might have received. Either way, they wouldn't know until Galen's visit ended.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, patting Galen's back encouragingly as the coughing fit stopped.

"I think so," Galen breathed, taking his hands away. The flecks of blood that Buffy glimpsed concerned her.

"Maybe you should get back," she suggested gently. "Get some rest."

"You really want to know what he saw, don't you?"

"That's not my main concern," Buffy said. "I know you're not feeling well."

"Just a headache, love."

"Uh-huh."

"Really, 'cause-" he jerked forward abruptly, hand flying to his eyes, where a sharp pain suddenly burst in his head. He waited for it to fade some, like usual, but it only intensified with excruciating pressure.

"Sp—Galen," Buffy made to touch his head, but he flinched away from her. "I-I'll get some water," she excused, jumping to her feet and running off, forgetting that she could have any one of the others go fetch a glass for her. She knew that when Spike had the horrible attacks from the chip, water always seemed to help after. Besides… she couldn't bear to watch. She made it to the kitchen and began to shake when she realized she didn't have a clue what to do. Then Fred came in and showed her and quietly showed her where the cups were. Gratefully, Buffy filled it with tap water and was surprised again when Cordelia stopped her on her way back, offering her extra-strength painkillers.

The pain subsided slightly while Buffy was away; Galen no longer felt like he was going to pass out. His eyes and nose watered, however, and although his eyes quickly dried, fat, hot drops fell from his nose, even when he wiped it repeatedly.

"You're bleeding again," Eamon told him. Drop after drop of blood stained Galen's skin and clothing. The bright red was getting all over his hands as he tried to keep the blood from getting on the floor or anywhere else.

"It won't stop," Galen murmured, absently licking the salty blood from his lips.

"It will stop, eventually," Eamon promised him, going to help his friend to his feet. His hands slipped against Galen's bloody ones. "Shit."

"I'll get some tissues," Dawn said quickly.

"No, don't bother—" a clatter made Eamon halt mid-sentence, and he looked at Buffy, who had returned with a cup of water and apparently just dropped it. The noise startled her, also, as she hadn't realized she'd lost her grip on the cup until it hit the floor. The colorless liquid spread over the tiles, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Galen. Drops of blood began to drip on the floor.

"We're supposed to be for a walk," Eamon said. "So we can't have anything unusual with us."

"Don't you want to wait for it to stop?" Dawn wondered.

"No," Eamon answered. "We should go. I'm sorry… will you still come tomorrow?"

Angel looked at Buffy, but she was completely stunned, just staring at the blood dripping through Galen's cupped palm onto the floor.

"We'll be there," he said.

"Come on, pet, you'll be alright," Eamon murmured to Galen to get him moving. He gathered up Galen's sweatshirt and glasses and guided him towards the door. Galen dropped one of his hands, and Vancouver lapped the blood out of his master's palm while he trailed behind them. It was too upsetting to think that'd he'd left without saying goodbye to anyone.

"I'm going to die," Galen whimpered outside.

"Tomorrow evening you'll be choosing one of those posh rooms upstairs," Eamon calmed him.

Galen felt like crying, but only a few bloody tears escaped. "That's not true."

* * *

Buffy slowly broke from her shock as her friends started a cleanup. Willow moped up the spilled water. Cordelia wiped the blood off of the floor, and then quickly went to find something to get the blood out of the couch before it stained.

"He needs us now more than ever," Angel told Buffy gently. She slowly nodded, knowing it was true.

"I'm worried about him," Buffy said. "Mostly about what he might do to himself. I don't know if we can actually help him."

"We have to try."

Lorne wore a look of confusion and slowly glanced around, as if waking from a daze. "That's odd…. It's nice seeing you all, but I can't, for the life of me, remember how I got here."

* * *

"Whatever it was, it's over now," Mary said, placating Galen. It was late at night, but she had only just finished her task of patiently cleaning the blood from Galen's hands and face and rewrapping his arms. Her major concern was Galen's reaction to the sudden nosebleed. He had finally stopped trembling and relaxed to her attentions, mostly out of exhaustion.

"There's no need to worry, dear." She peeled off the latex gloves and threw them into the trash. "Do you want to shower tonight or in the morning?"

"Morning," Galen responded tiredly.

"I thought so. Change into some fresh clothes, and I'll wash these ones. Try to get lots of rest, and we'll see if you feel better in the morning."

"Okay," Galen said, getting out of the kitchen chair and walking into the living room slowly, feeling his way. The home was very small, and nice, and sterile. It was like a hospital, but more personal. He felt like he belonged here, and almost wished that Buffy wouldn't take him. He didn't want her to have to put up with him and deal with this. Besides, the hotel was so very large, and he wasn't so sure they would like him being there.

"Hey, stranger," Rachel greeted him softly, making him stop.

"What do you want?"

"How did your date go?"

Galen scowled and moved towards her, dropping his voice. "Don't say that in here."

"Relax, she's in her office, probably making notes about your nosebleed. I bet that sucked, huh?"

"What do you care?" Galen muttered.

Rachel sighed impatiently, tugging Galen closer. "Look, I know you must be upset about your boyfriend leaving you, but you can't let it get you down. You've got your woman to look forward to, right? Addison can be your new boyfriend."

"Eamon is my – I mean… he's not going anywhere…."

"Yes he is," Rachel frowned. "Oh, shit. Didn't he tell you already?"

"Tell me what?" Galen questioned angrily.

"They're throwing him back," Rachel said. "He's served his time already. He was supposed to tell you. Dunstan is getting out, too, apparently. It'll be just you and me and Addison, plus whatever whackjobs they stick us with. Don't worry, though; we've got your back."

The door to Eamon's room opened, and Rachel was grateful that Galen couldn't see all of his stuff packed up. "Rach…" Eamon began disapprovingly.

"You were supposed to tell him," Rachel defended herself immediately. "You were going to break up with him gently, you said."

"I didn't get around to it."

"You couldn't spare five minutes to tell me about this?" Galen demanded.

"I'm telling you now, G-"

"Shut up! Don't you even give a fuck about me?"

"This isn't about you, Galen," Mary said, coming into the room to put a hand on Galen's shoulder, which he jerked away from. "Eamon has completed his stay here. Other people need the space. It's all a part of life, Galen. You can see each other again and stay in touch."

"You'll visit me?" Galen asked.

"Yes," Eamon promised.

"Are you alright now?" Mary questioned when Galen was silent for a while.

"I'm tired," Galen said.

"Don't you want to wait and say goodbye to your friend?"

Part of him sorely wanted to, but Galen was feeling resentful and didn't want to make their separation seem permanent.

"No."

"Maybe Eamon wants you to wait and say goodbye-" Mary began, but Galen already walked away to his room, Vancouver faithfully joining him before he shut the door.

Galen took a calming breath and held it for as long as possible, sitting down on his bed numbly. He was going to die and Eamon was leaving him and Buffy was going to take him to an empty hotel full of people he didn't know who didn't want him and would quickly grow sick of his sickness. He wanted to grind shards of glass into his skin, but he just sat in silence and breathed instead.

Was it worth the chance of love?

The breathing made him lightheaded and he crawled onto his bed, laying still.

Would he have a room that felt like his own, or would it just feel borrowed again? Everything felt so borrowed, even his skin.

He called for Vancouver, and the dog joined him on the bed, settling down alongside him, stealing part of his pillow. At least one person understood him, and wouldn't leave him. One person would love him unconditionally, whether he was feeling sane or not, as long as he remembered to give him kibble. He stroked Vancouver's warm fur and wondered if they would actually accept Couver in the hotel.

Outside the room, he could hear the light conversation that accompanied Eamon's leave. Mary asked if he had everything, and had confirmed a place to stay, and Eamon answered yes to both questions. Galen closed his eyes and tried to will away the noises, but they were clear as ever. He hugged Couver tightly when the door shut, and tried to pretend that it wasn't Eamon leaving forever.

This couldn't be happening.

* * *

"What happened to him?" Buffy asked. Lorne had listened to their explanations and desperate questions, apologizing for not knowing the answers. He couldn't remember giving Galen a reading, much less meeting the young man, or even coming over to the Hyperion.

"This is a definite sign of a spell," Wesley said.

"Someone doesn't want us knowing about Galen," Willow agreed grimly.

"Can you break it?" Buffy demanded to know.

Willow sighed. "Maybe. Only if you want to risk his head exploding, though."

"Let's not, hey?" Lorne said quickly.

"Why is it so hard to just pull up someone's memories?" Cordelia frowned.

"Oh, yeah, because it should be _easy_ to pick someone's brain!" Willow exclaimed sardonically. "Just, 'La-la-la! Oh, I feel like seeing all of Cordelia's dark secrets, so I'm just gonna cast a little spell!'"

"I bet you anything this means that he really is a vampire," Dawn said.

Wesley frowned at the sudden pronouncement. "Not necessarily, I'm afraid. It's likely that Wolfram & Hart simply don't want anyone to know that he used to be a vampire."

She folded her arms shruggingly. "Same thing."

Buffy slowly walked around the room, looking over everything as her mind played back the night's events. "What was wrong with him? Why would he bleed like that?"

"I'm not medical doctor, but I fear he really was very sick indeed," Wesley stated.

"Don't need to be a medical doctor to see that," Gunn snorted.

"What do you think it is?" Buffy asked.

"Well, let's think over the symptoms for a moment," Wesley suggested, taking a breath as he prepared to broach a subject he didn't really want to consider. "He's very pale, very tired. He hasn't been eating, and his friend mentioned that he was feverish. Above all of that, there was that cough, but I'm not sure if—"

"I saw blood," Buffy blurted out. "There was fresh blood on his hand. All of that means that—"

"Those are the symptoms of tuberculosis, I'm afraid," Wesley said. "But again… I'm not a doctor."

"There's got to be something else," Fred said quickly. "Another similar disease. Anything less… deadly."

"I think Wesley's right," Angel agreed reluctantly. "William lived in the time when tuberculosis was rampant. He wasn't suffering from it before he was turned, but I know that some of his family died of consumption. It was probably lying dormant in his system."

"For over a century?" Buffy questioned skeptically.

"Darla's revival was the same way," Angel said. "The medication that his friend was so adamant about getting him off may very well have been treatment for tuberculosis."

"Wonderful," Cordelia muttered.

Dawn chewed her lip nervously. "Isn't tuberculosis very contagious?"

"Yes, it is," Wesley nodded. "The bacteria are spread through the air just from speaking, sneezing, coughing, singing, or kissing. The good news is that there is treatment. Half of us are likely to be needing it."

"Oh, God," Buffy groaned, wiping her face. "I'm so sorry, you guys."

* * *

"So you're not going to get him?" Kennedy asked, pondering their story over a midnight cup of tea. Giles suggested that it would help settle their nerves, but Buffy hadn't taken a sip.

"We have to, no matter what," Buffy said quietly. "We promised him, and I'm not leaving him in that place."

"Especially not with his friend moving out," Dawn added.

"You can't be positive that it's consumption," Giles said reasonably. "Although it does sound like that may be the case."

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He only knew that he was sick. If they were treating him for tuberculosis, you'd think he'd have heard them say it fifty thousand times. Even if he had trouble remembering sometimes, wouldn't he know whether or not it was tuberculosis? And he didn't have a cough until tonight."

"It might be developing," Kennedy pointed out. "And you don't live with him twenty-four hours a day. You don't know that he hasn't had a cough before this."

"But tuberculosis doesn't make you bleed from the arms. There's got to be something else here."

"I would agree," Giles said. "If there is a spell in place to block any kind of reading, then there may be something similar causing his ailments."

"If Wolfram & Hart are involved, it's a miracle he's still in one piece," Buffy said.

"He's blind," Dawn reminded her sister, causing an awkward silence.

"Isn't it time for you to go to bed?" Buffy suggested brusquely.

Dawn frowned and took her empty cup to the sink. "You need sleep, too," she said. "You've got a jailbreak first thing in the afternoon, and you need to be well-rested."

"I think that sleepless might be a more convincing way to go," Buffy answered uncomfortably, knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. She played with the string to her teabag, realizing she hadn't taken a sip.

Giles' warm hand gently covered hers, and she looked up, wishing she hadn't. His concerned eyes were making her strength melt.

"Get some rest, Buffy."

"'K," Buffy whispered, her resolve crumbling. She stood up and Dawn took her cup, emptying it out as well. Neither Kennedy or Giles made a sign of leaving just yet, and she knew they were probably going to linger a while before they left. "I'll try to get some shut-eye. Dawn. You really need more sleep than I do. Brush your teeth and then straight to bed."

"Yes, ma'am," Dawn said, averting her eyes when she passed by quickly.

The blonde stood still for a moment, looking at Giles and Kennedy. "Are you guys going to have a tea party?"

"I-I expect I'll be heading home shortly as well," Giles smiled slightly, despite himself. "Just… a word, Buffy…. Whatever the outcome of this, don't let it eat at you. We're all expecting a lot of great things. I'm afraid that you might be… let down. That he may not be what you're looking for."

"I'll be alright," Buffy said, trying to ignore what Giles meant.

"It's terribly unfair to him, however," Giles sighed, giving her a weary look. "You need to realize that if you aren't in love with the man he is right now…. That's all that there is, Buffy. Like anyone, he deserves to be loved for who he is. Don't focus on the Spike that you knew, or that you think he can become again. As far as it all goes, there is no Spike." Giles tried not to be so harsh, but needed to make his point. "He's dead, Buffy. He died back in that wretched hole that used to be Sunnydale." He took a breath and tried to soften his words again. "No matter how much you want him back, what was can never be. Do you love the man, or the memory?"

The words unraveled everything in Buffy's heart, until she wasn't sure what was left standing. Every romantic notion dissolved, except for the ones that were deep engrained, like imperfections. She realized with a heavy-heart that those unshakable, silly little hopes were exactly what Giles was trying to address.

"I just want him to be safe," Buffy said. "I don't care if he falls in love with me, or Fred, or that Rachel girl. Actually, I do care, but I'd be happy for him. Even if I had to leave, I'd be glad for him to have a life that makes _him_ happy. What he has now…" she shook her head in dismay, "isn't a life."

"I pray that you'll consider what may happen," Giles said quietly.

"I have considered," Buffy said, leaving them to their own conversation. She went to her room and shakily locked the door behind her. A tremendous weight seemed to have settled onto her shoulders as she realized that just getting Galen out would only be half the battle. There was so much more that she couldn't begin to fathom. Would he even enjoy living with them?

She leaned back against the door, staring at her empty bed. She tried to picture him there, waiting for her, and couldn't. Everything was falling apart, but the worst thing was that she was letting it happen. Doubt and worry were being allowed to develop when she was standing at the threshold of certain victory.

Self-sabotage couldn't win out this time. Buffy closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, slowly sliding down onto the floor. It was with great relief that she realized she could picture him here, from the color of his eyes to the dark shades of his beautiful brown hair. Things were okay. They were really okay.

* * *

Sharp, cold air exhilarated him as he breathed deeply. He ran his fingers over the rough cement in endlessly repetitive motions. One leg dangled over the edge while the other one remained safely planted on the floor.

Galen felt at ease, even as he was aware of the height. He was in perfect balance and harmony, in danger of nothing. The view of the sunset was truly amazing, even though he saw virtually nothing. He didn't really have to; he knew it was there. Shadows of warm light painted a picture in his mind. He saw the cement vividly, however, with each sweep of his fingers over the textured surface. It was a very grounding sensation against the ethereal environment.

A phantom wind passed through him, and a presence stirred to his right as an Other joined him. It was nearly a ghost of a spirit, someone he barely recognized and certainly didn't belong in this world anymore, but he was content to sit there and allow them to join him.

They came close to him in a haze of black, and knelt beside him.

There was a drawn-out pause of silence, as it the words took a very long time to move through the air.

"Are you going to jump?"

The voice was masculine, curious, and somehow dangerous. It made him feel slightly unsettled.

"No. I didn't consider that, really," Galen admitted, lifting his head for once to look around at the blinding sunset. Dusk was coming in from his right, and the contrast made him dizzy.

"You can't sit up here, forever, mate," the Other told him, standing up. "She won't even look for you up here."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. You've got to meet her on the ground."

"I don't think anyone's down there," Galen said doubtfully, too wary to look over the side.

"Anyone who's too afraid to look down really shouldn't be sitting so sodding high. You might get hurt."

"I can handle those repercussions."

The voice grew darker. "Really, now?"

The height of his perch didn't concern him as much as the rush of something else. He wasn't sure what it was, but could feel it as acutely as the dusk closing in around him like a storm cloud. Galen exhaled shakily and flattened his hands against the cool cement. "Do you think that time stands still in any part of the Universe, for any being?"

"Depends on which universe you're talking about."

Galen flicked his eyes up to the Other's face, but saw nothing. "Does it matter?"

"All I know is that you can't bleeding well get anywhere by holding onto something with your entire being. She's not falling into our hands anytime soon. Which part of us is going to reach and take her? Tell me that."

Galen lifted his hands from the cement, resting them lightly on his lap. "…I don't want anything to do with this world," Galen murmured, letting the words go into the breeze.

"Pity. You're still a part of it," the Other pointed out, shoving Galen out into the void.

The air seemed to be sucked away as he fell. Light and shape dissembled, leaving only gritty, rusting material. He hit the ground face down, much harder than seemed possible. The ground seemed to give slightly underneath him, but not as much as his bones did. There was not enough strength in the world to help him lift his head when the blood started pooling out onto the ground. The bitter metallic taste stayed in his mouth and his nose until he was nearly drowning in it.

A loud crash and splintering of wood made the shifting haze of light short out, leaving him in absolute darkness. He acutely tasted blood in his mouth, then. He lifted his head out of it with weak arms, unsure of why he had awoken.

Vancouver's barking alerted him only a split second before he was grabbed and physically dragged out of his bed. He clawed at the sheets, but didn't have more than a second to attempt a resistance before he fell off of the bed. The pain was too hard, too real. Something slammed into his chest, and he could hear barking, snarling, and someone shouting.

"Get the fu—!" there was a choked-off scream of pain and then Galen lost about three feet of ground, even as he clawed against the ground and tried to kick himself free.

His world was dark, but the hands around his throat were very real. Someone with gloves on knelt over his chest, trying to smother him. Another person tackled his attacker and he could hear fighting while he gasped for breath. Galen quickly tried to find his feet and stood up, only yelling when he was beaten with something that felt like a club. The same club came around his throat and was pulled tight, putting him in a chokehold. Body armor pressed into his naked back as he struggled, slamming his elbows back.

"G!" somebody shouted, and Galen, who had been having a hard time remembering where he even was, realized that it was Rachel. She shrieked as another one of the attackers grabbed her, and Vancouver took up barking loud enough to wake the dead.

"Team 3 to headquarters," someone said, close to Galen's ear, and the club jerked tighter around his neck.

Vancouver snarled and Galen heard what must have been the dog trying to kill one of the assailants. It seemed as if a demon had been unleashed in the room, and he was shoved away, where several arms grabbed him and held him back.

"Somebody shoot that fucking dog!"

"Couv!" Galen yelled, jerking his right arm free violently and trying to lurch forward, but the force holding him back was overwhelmingly great.

A terrible growl rose up and Vancouver went into a vicious fit of rage again. A gun blast filled the room, followed by a loud yelp. Galen's heart leapt into his throat and he waited on pins and needles for another sound. None came.

He screamed wordlessly, heaving himself forward with such force that he nearly dislocated his shoulder when he wrenched himself free. Immediately, they tried to seize him again. Out of pure reaction he swung a punch, dimly aware of his fist connecting, but not actually feeling anything. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't even be sure that he was still breathing. The air of the room felt like it was on fire, burning away all of the oxygen. He fought like a cornered animal until blood that wasn't his own cooled his knuckles. Both of his arms were finally caught and brought under control, twisting him down to the floor.

The weight became tremendous, almost crushing. He could barely breathe by the time a cloth bag was pulled over his head. A needle slid into his neck and then left again, spreading numbness. Within seconds, they didn't have to hold him down any longer.

Two of the agents let go of him, then, taking a breather before radioing in to headquarters. The other two slammed their captive face-first into the floor again, for good measure, and then started to put on the restraints.

"This is team 3 to headquarters. Subject has been acquired, but we've run into some complications with civilian interference. We have an agent down. Requesting a back-up team. Keep it low."

"Oh, goody, I'm just in time," came a purr as a woman dressed in black entered the room. Lilah stopped in front of Galen, watching her men put ropes around his hands and legs. The captain of the little team didn't look very amused; his face was bloodied, but it just made Lilah laugh. "I've always wondered what would happen when we came back for him. Tie him up tight, boys, but don't break him. You know I love my presents wrapped."

* * *

**Galen's song:  
****"Sleeping Beauty" by A Perfect Circle (they own it all, and I love the band, so plz don't sue.)**


	19. Absence

_**Previously...**_

_"…I don't want anything to do with this world," Galen murmured, letting the words go into the breeze._

_"Pity. You're still a part of it," the Other pointed out, shoving Galen out into the void._

_..._

_A gun blast filled the room, followed by a loud yelp. Galen's heart leapt into his throat and he waited on pins and needles for another sound. None came._

_He screamed wordlessly, heaving himself forward with such force that he nearly dislocated his shoulder when he wrenched himself free. Immediately, they tried to seize him again. Out of pure reaction he swung a punch, dimly aware of his fist connecting, but not actually feeling anything. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't even be sure that he was still breathing. The air of the room felt like it was on fire, burning away all of the oxygen. He fought like a cornered animal until blood that wasn't his own cooled his knuckles. Both of his arms were finally caught and brought under control, twisting him down to the floor._

_The weight became tremendous, almost crushing. He could barely breathe by the time a cloth bag was pulled over his head. A needle slid into his neck and then left again, spreading numbness. Within seconds, they didn't have to hold him down any longer._

* * *

...

* * *

**Now**

Sunlight seemed to linger in Buffy's hair when she came in through the front doors of the Hyperion. She shook out her blonde hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, swiping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "This was well worth the sick day," was her greeting the unnaturally vacant lobby. The place was usually teeming, but today Angel was her only audience, it seemed. He leaned against the counter, watching her. She smiled and approached him, smoothing down a pretty but respectable blue top, which reflected her hard-earned position as a slayer.

"Do I look like girlfriend material to you?" Buffy froze as soon as she let the words leave her mouth. Her lips twisted into an awkward grin when she laughed. "Sorry."

"No," Angel let out a chuckle, and pretended to assess her. "You look good."

Buffy gave him a girlish smile and ducked her chin, frowning when she realized she wished that Galen could say the same.

"Don't over think things, Buffy," Angel warned her gently. "You'll start to doubt yourself. This is the right thing to do."

"It's the only thing to do," Buffy corrected, lifting her chain again. A bang like a balloon exploding made her jump slightly and turn around to see a plume of purple smoke that Willow frantically tried to wave away.

"Willow," Buffy said, walking towards her. "I didn't see you way over here on the floor. What are you doing?"

"She's been trying to call Hectate all morning," Angel spoke.

Willow coughed slightly and put out the cinders of the latest failed spell. "Not true. I've tried other goddesses…" she trailed off sheepishly, wishing she had a better report of success. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel like I'm an amateur again. No. Worse than that. At least when I was an amateur my spells worked, they just didn't go as planned. Either something is blocking my mojo, or I just fail at witchcraft."

"You don't fail at witchcraft," Buffy placated her. "You've never failed at anything."

"But I've always relied on my natural connection to the Goddess," Willow said, resting her hands on her knees. She felt like she was on the verge of tears, because all of her researching had led her to a very limited possibility of choices. "I don't feel very connect-y anymore."

"I have faith in you, Willow," Buffy said. "Maybe you'd feel better if you waited for Kennedy, though?"

Willow nervously sucked on her bottom lip, thinking, and then nodded. Buffy offered her a hand to help her to her feet and Willow gently brushed off her skirt.

"So you're going to go rescue your knight in shining armor?" Willow asked, wearing a fresh smile on her face.

"That's a bit of a role reversal, isn't it?" Buffy laughed nervously.

"Um, Buffy…" Angel started awkwardly. "I just…. Wesley wanted me to talk to you, actually. He just wanted you to consider that Galen is a different person altogether—"

Buffy held out her hand, stopping his flow of words. "I already got the 'Spike is Really and Truly Dead' speech from Giles," Buffy told him. The vampire visibly relaxed, the burden of having to have a Talk with her gone. "So he did that to you, too, huh? What's with the second degree from the Brits?"

"They're a bunch of doom-and-gloomers," Willow pouted.

"They have a valid point," Angel defended lightly.

"I know. That's why I hate it so much," Buffy sighed. "So… what's our game plan? I know that I'm the girlfriend. Galen's grief-stricken lover who is overjoyed to find him again."

"Just remember that his name isn't Galen," Angel said. "We'll go with William, because Galen is just the name they stuck him with. We think Galen might be William, but you shouldn't identify him as anything but William."

"Got it. Have you decided your role?"

"I'm the detective who helped you locate him," Angel said. "You thought William must still be in the area and hired me to help you locate him. I found a man named Galen who fit the description, and we're following up to see if you can positively identify him in person."

Buffy shivered, excited by the prospect of finally being able to take Galen home. "That's so close to the truth, and he doesn't even know it. When can we tell him?"

"I think Wes will only let us if he shows signs of recovering memories, or if it's necessary."

"Makes sense to me," Buffy nodded. "Should we practice what we're going to say?"

"Only about fifty times," Cordelia called out, striding into the room and to her workstation, a travel mug in hand. "Making a convincing appearance is crucial. The entire story falls on you, Buffy. Angel knows his role. He has stoic, broody detective down pact. You're the one who breathes life into the whole thing. You should be desperate and overwhelmed and just composed enough to speak rationally to them. You're driven beyond any reason or logic to find the man you love unconditionally. And when you do find him, you'd better break out the fireworks. If you do that all right, there's no way they can argue with you."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Buffy said. "This is all so close to truth, I probably won't even have to think about faking it. I just get to… let go of everything I've been holding back for a while. I just hope they don't break out the legal red tape."

"If Galen receives us well, they shouldn't find any reason to," Angel said. "He's a grown adult and if he wants to live with us, who's to tell him he can't? Between the dozen of us, there's bound to be someone with enough legitimacy to become a legal guardian, if it's necessary. Their only concern should be if we'll take the responsibility of caring for him."

"I can feed him," Buffy said quickly, agreeably. "Anything."

"I think he can feed himself," Willow nudged the blonde gently, laughing at her friend. "He'd just need the place to be blind-friendly."

"Unless you want to feed him, like, in a kinky, sexual way," Cordelia chimed in, much to Buffy's further embarrassment. "In that case, go right ahead."

Buffy groaned softly and covered her face with her hands. "I'm going to patronize him. He's going to hate me."

"He couldn't possibly hate you, Buffy," Willow comforted. "He likes you. He loves you."

"He likes you, he loves you," Cordelia repeated, slightly mocking. "Look, you could have the guy wrapped around your finger if you wanted. There's no need to be so insecure. Take him home, put your moves on him and he'll be in your bed at the drop of a hat."

"You may speak some truth," Buffy frowned at Cordy.

The brunette smiled. "Guys love a girl with confidence."

* * *

"Hello, my name is Buffy Summers. This is Angel, of Angel Investigations. We were looking for a friend."

"Stop. You sound like beggars."

Buffy pouted at Wesley, who remained firm. She took a breath and tried again.

"My name is Buffy Summers, and this is Angel. We're here to find someone who went missing, and one of your residents matches his description."

"Stop," Wesley said again, holding up his hands. "Buffy… I think you're taking on a bit too much. Let Angel say the last bit. It's something fitting of a detective."

Buffy bit her lip. "Do I still introduce?"

"Yes, you may," Wesley nodded, folding his arms again.

The blonde shook out her hands, mostly to relieve the urge to strangle Wesley. She'd have to keep her cool with the nurses, too.

"My name is Buffy Summers, and this is Angel, of Angel Investigations."

"Good afternoon," Angel slipped himself into the mock conversation. "Ma'am, we're here on a missing persons case. This young lady filed the report, and my sources have told me that you recently had a gentleman check in-"

"Stop."

"God, what, Wesley?" Angel asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You're giving her too much of an opportunity to push you away," Wesley said critically. "You need to push the agenda more, and perhaps throw in a description of William as well. She's likely to have seen many young men come and go, and may try to dismiss you."

Angel and Buffy glanced at each other, and then she looked at Wesley. "Should I…?"

"Angel, pick up."

"Right. Good afternoon, ma'am," Angel said again, less leisurely and more like an agent who wanted to get down to business. "This young lady filed a missing persons report a while back, and recently my offices have reason to believe he matches one of your patients. Looks to be in his thirties, brown hair, blue eyes, 5'8", slender build, distinguished cheekbones, and an English accent."

"Stop. Too much specific detail. Seems suspicious."

"Looks to be in his mid-thirties, brown hair, blue eyes, 5'8", slender build."

"Please," Buffy added, for a touch of desperate lover. "He's my boyfriend. He went missing a few months under mysterious circumstances. We were going to be engaged in the fall."

"Give Angel the 'mysterious circumstances' line, and cut out the bit about engagement," Wesley said.

"Don't I get to say anything?" Buffy protested.

"Only if it makes sense. Start over with Angel, and fit in that mysterious circumstances line."

"A few months ago, this young lady filed a missing persons report. Her boyfriend disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Recently, my offices have discovered that a patient here matches the description. Looks to be in his thirties, brown hair, blue eyes, 5'8" with a slender build. Ring any bells?"

"Please," Buffy paused to give the imaginary woman her emotional eyes. "William never would have disappeared like that. I've been so worried that something awful might have happened."

"She might try to tell you that there is no William," Wesley directed, biting his knuckle decisively as he judged their acting skill.

"According to my report, you took in an amnesia victim around the same time that William disappeared," Angel stated. "We'd like to see if there's a chance that he's our missing person."

"That'll do," Wesley said. "Somewhere in there, I suspect that Galen will make himself known. It will help your argument if he and Buffy show enough chemistry to convince them that he is William, and that she is his lover."

"That was pretty good," Cordelia gave her acknowledgement.

"Well, as long as the _queen_ approves," Buffy said, and glanced at her watch. "Visiting hours have been open for forty-seven minutes. Angel, we'd better decide how you want to travel. …Does anyone else feel like they might throw up?"

* * *

"This makes me nervous."

"You'll do great. Have you got everything you need?"

"Yup. It's all here."

"Good. We're here."

They stopped and climbed out of the car, squinting at the bright sun.

"I want to do a dry run first – so to speak – and then fuel up," Fred said, dragging parts of her flamethrower out of the backseat. She had disassembled it enough to make it look harmless, but kept the pieces under a blanket, just in case. With a couple screwdrivers and nimble fingers, it would be back together in no time.

Gunn looked around at the barren, sun-bleached field, which was secluded enough to let them do the testing. He popped the trunk and took out the can of fuel, and brought it back to Fred.

"Is that thing going to work?"

"Oh, sure it is!" Fred smiled. "I just have to put the parts together correctly, and I've taken this baby apart and putting it back together several times already. Did you get the water?"

Gunn shook his head and went back to the trunk, taking out two gallons of water. He closed the trunk and watched Fred tighten screws.

"I guess that by the time we get back, there's going to be another guy running around," Gunn said, leaning against the car.

Fred 'hmm'ed, trying to look busy. "I guess so," she agreed with a laugh.

"You still like him, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I'm just worried about the backlash… and about everything else."

"Well, you shouldn't be too worried. If there's anything I know about Buffy, it's that the girl is unstoppable," Gunn said. "If she wants to rescue him, you can bet that by nightfall he'll be sitting in the hotel with that dog of his."

Fred managed to let a smile spread on her face. "That will be so nice. I hope everything goes well." She clicked the last piece into place and lifted the weapon, testing it. "I think this is good. Load a capsule with water for me?"

Gunn shivered. "You've got a thing for weapons, don't you?"

"I grew up in the south," Fred replied, leaving it to be self-explanatory.

* * *

The street was cast in shadow when they arrived. The address led them to a one-story, white building that looked slightly dilapidated. It had probably seen better days. The sight of the building made Buffy wince slightly. "Is this the place?"

"Yes," Wesley confirmed, peering out from the driver's seat. "I'm sure it's nicer inside," he added.

"It's a place for drug addicts and schizophrenics. It's not meant to be luxurious," Angel pointed out, testing the shade. He only felt the burn of the sun vaguely, and figured he could make it to the front door. "Let's do this."

Buffy nodded and they crossed the street, dropping into role right away. Buffy paused at the door. She had slain countless demons in her lifetime, and right now she was terrified of the little doorbell in front of her. She jabbed it with her thumb anyway. It glowed at her menacingly.

The door clicked and then opened, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman. She had brown hair that was pulled back into a severe knot.

"May I help you?" she smiled, regardless of her stern appearance.

"Yes, I think you can," Buffy glanced at Angel, who looked like a statue. "May we come inside?"

"Certainly." The woman granted them entrance, and Buffy looked over the astutely sterile kitchen.

"Are you here to visit Elizabeth?"

"Who? Um, no," Buffy frowned. "My name is Buffy Summers, and this is Angel, of Angel Investigations."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding a missing persons case," Angel picked up, skipping any formalities. He swiftly removed a hand-held notepad from his coat and flipped it open. "We're looking for a man, about mid-thirties. Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'8", slender build. Ring any bells?"

"We don't have anyone matching that description."

"That's not what my sources say," Angel covered his surprise. "William disappeared a few months ago, under mysterious circumstances. About the same time, you had a man suffering from amnesia check in."

"Please," Buffy added. "I've been going out of my mind wondering what happened to him. He's my boyfriend."

"I'm sorry, but unless your boyfriend has a history of substance abuse or mental illness, there's no way he's here," the woman said. "We don't take in amnesia patients. There's another support center on the other side of town. You should also try to hospital and the homeless shelter if you haven't already."

"Could you give me the address of that other home?" Angel requested. "Miss, uh… Mary, correct?

"Mary is away on leave," the woman said. "My name is Brenda."

"Brenda," Angel repeated. "Have you ever had a young woman check in here by the name of Rachel?"

"That's against protocol to say, but truthfully we've only had one, and that was many years ago."

"What about a man named Eamon?"

"I can honestly say I've never even heard that name before. What is this about?"

"Nothing, ma'am, just protocol," Angel said, flipping to a blank page in the notebook. "That address?"

While Brenda told Angel the other address and he double-checked it three times with her, Buffy desperately looked around to see if anything suspicious stood out. It took all of her restraint not to demand to know what the woman had done to Galen. There were playing cards on the table, and a half-empty glass of juice, but that was the only real sign of life in the place.

"Thank you," Angel finally said, signaling their leave. Buffy reluctantly pulled herself away and Angel guided her out of the place, worried that she would turn back at any moment to slay Brenda.

* * *

"She's lying!" Buffy exclaimed as soon as she got into the passenger side of the car.

Angel shushed her urgently and quickly climbed into the backseat.

"What happened?" Wesley asked apprehensively.

"He's gone," Angel breathed, unable to believe it himself.

"Everyone is gone," Buffy said, shutting the car door, hard. "Galen, Eamon, Rachel, and even Mary, the nurse." She stopped for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it. "Are we sure this is the place?"

"It's right in line with the library," Angel said, equally frustrated and confused. "The hospital is in the other direction, and the homeless shelter is blocks away. There's no other possible place."

"What does this mean?" Buffy asked, fighting tears of anger.

Angel sighed and stared hard at the white building. "It means he's a missing person."

* * *

Flames shot out five feet in front of her. Fred held tightly to the flamethrower, watching the stream of fire.

"Damn girl!" Gunn shouted, impressed by the display.

Fred remained perfectly controlled, however. The most dangerous moment was to come. She would have to release the trigger and hope that the shut-off valve worked the way it should. If it failed to close properly, the flames could go into fuel chamber and cause an explosion.

She took a shaky breath and then let go of the trigger. The fuel cut off and the flames burnt off the remaining liquid streaming through the air, disappearing in a puff of flames.

"It worked," Fred said slowly, nearly shaking. Her wits came back to her and she burst into a wide grin, overcome with joy. "It worked! Gunn, I made it work!"

"I saw it, baby!" Gunn exclaimed, sharing in her triumph. She set the flamethrower down on the ground and flung her arms with him, hugging him hard.

"I knew you could do it," Gunn added while her tiny arms crushed him. "You're a genius."

"An' don't I know it," Fred smiled, letting go of Gunn and bouncing on her toes excitedly for a moment. "Wesley is going to be so thrilled when I tell him all about it," she said, brightening even more. Gunn's face fell slightly, watching her go back to being a busy bee. She started packing up components to the flamethrower, starting by removing the fuel canister and deactivating the triggering mechanism.

"This will do the job, but as soon as I can, I'm going to increase the range," Fred babbled. "I want the stream to be more concentrated and go to at least eight feet, ideally. Also, I need to find some larger fuel canisters."

It wasn't necessary for Gunn to reply, so he didn't. He was beginning to realize he had no place in that conversation.

* * *

"Welcome back," Willow greeted. Her bright smile evaporated when she saw that Angel, Buffy, and Wesley were returning alone.

"Where is he?" Cordelia asked, confused. "Don't tell me they wouldn't let you take him."

"He wasn't there," Buffy said, feeling numb now. "We were in the right place, but he wasn't there."

"They sent him away?" Fred's eyes were wide.

"They seemed to have denied his existence," Wesley corrected.

"_What_?"

"Galen wasn't there, neither was Rachel, the girl he mentioned," Angel said. "Mary wasn't there. We spoke to Brenda. She told us she'd never heard of Eamon, even though she was one Galen said he hated."

"It's a cover-up," Cordelia said. "Someone took him and covered their tracks."

"Wolfram and Hart did this," Buffy stated, verbalizing what they all knew. "They brought him back, and they're taking him away again. I'm not going to let them do that to him. _We're_ not going to let them do that to him. Willow, Wesley, I want you guys to figure out a way to crack their mojo. Whatever it takes, I want it done, and then I want to know exactly where Galen is and who we have to kill to take him back."

"Are you sure this isn't a bit over the top?" Wesley asked, needing to be the one who put on the brakes.

"Not a bit," Buffy replied without hesitating.

"Neither do I," Wesley admitted. "But consider the consequences of declaring war on Wolfram and Hart."

"They probably have an arsenal," Buffy said with consideration. "But we're stronger than they are, and we have something to fight for. They're just toying with us. Showing us that we have no power. But they're wrong. This is no different than if it were you in there, or Angel, or me. I need you all together on this. We're going to hit them fast and hit them hard, and no one is going to be left behind."


	20. The Other

"Folks at the shelter don't have a clue," Gunn reported when he came back to the hotel.

"As I suspected," Fred sighed, scratching it off of their list. "We've tried phoning a few help groups and other places, but we've got nothing."

"Which further confirms that this is in fact the work of Wolfram and Hart," Giles sighed.

"As if the mysterious disappearance of everyone else wasn't enough," Cordelia snorted.

"Buffy's got to be going out of her mind," Fred said sympathetically.

"The good news is, he probably didn't have tuberculosis," Cordelia pointed out. There was a quiet moment while everyone stared at her disbelievingly. "What? Am I the only one who can see the silver lining anymore?"

Giles shook his head, choosing to ignore that she had just said that. "What do we know about Wolfram and Hart?" he asked aloud.

"They have an impressively boundless and powerful circle of powerful wizards," Wesley said. "So if you're looking for what kind of spell they might have used, it won't do much good. I've already poured over the most advanced texts I can get my hands on."

"So acquire more advanced ones," Giles retorted.

Wesley stared at Giles. "It's completely senseless for us to go to all of this trouble. We merely have to go in and recover him."

"You know as well as I do it won't be that simple," Giles replied. "Because if there's anything to know about this law firm of yours, it's that they never do anything out of pure simplicity. They've gone through a lot of trouble to bring Spike back from the grave and then to make his life a living hell. Allowing us to come across him wasn't pure laziness on their part. Angel has been tormenting himself for not pulling Galen out sooner, but perhaps there was good cause for not doing that."

"You think he was… bait?" Fred guessed.

"It would appear so," Giles agreed. "For what I'm not certain right now, but if we wait long enough, we won't have to know."

"My gut instinct tells me we'd better find out before this thing goes down," Gunn objected.

"Are we to play guessing games until we come up with a satisfactory conclusion?" Wesley asked dryly.

"No," Giles frowned. "I'd rather hope not. Their powerful circle of wizards is not so impressive as it is pitiful. For all of their power and influence, I would bet you my soul that Willow alone could put them all to shame."

* * *

The alley was especially quiet after the dust had settled, but Angel was nevertheless satisfied with a job well done. Just a simple rescue really seemed to put his nerves at ease, and settled the war raging inside of him for a moment. About a thousand more souls to save, and it would begin to make up for failing his childe.

The poor girl's breath was faltering in the silence as she tried to make sense of what her attacker had been, or where her hero had come from.

Angel approached her quietly and she shied away slightly, but he held out a business card. Tentatively, she took the card and looked it over before staring at him wonderingly.

"I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, but if you ever need help, I have friends," Angel told her. "You can call on us at any time. I promise you that."

She nodded, still speechless, and a side door opening into the alley made Angel turn.

"Sorry to interrupt," Lorne murmured.

"What's up?" Angel asked, knowing that Lorne was never so quiet unless something serious was happening.

"I just picked up a weird reading on one of my clients," Lorne said, jerking his head to indicate the customers inside of Caritas. "I think it's a lead that'll help you find your boy."

* * *

The parking lot was calm by the emergency entrance. Earlier, she'd briefly helped out a kid who came in with a broken arm, at least to make sure that he got inside alright. Judging by his uniform, it had been a soccer accident. The bone had been showing from out of the skin, and the teen looked like he was about to pass out, but to his credit, he had held it together impressively when they admitted him.

Little things like that reminded her why she still had to answer her calling when people needed her. There would always be a crisis from time to time, and it was still her duty to be the slayer.

When the car pulled around the side of the building, Buffy opened up the side entrance door and went inside. It was time.

The key to getting anywhere in a hospital was looking like you knew exactly where you were going. She strode down the hall with purpose, mentally calculating where she had to go and which areas to hit first. She passed an abandoned nurse's station first, remembering when their plan to sneak Willow in to hack one of the computers from inside the system.

"Summers," a guard nodded when she passed his station. She nodded in acknowledgement and continued onward. The wings were nearly deserted at this time of day, during the shift switch. She found an exit and took the stairs up to the second floor.

She passed another nurse's station, and the woman at the desk eyed her suspiciously. The phone rang, however, and the nurse answered it.

In the clear, Buffy headed down the hallway, but soon realized that she had come to a dead end. She was at the other side of the building by now, and if she headed back downstairs she could cover more ground.

* * *

The door gave in weakly when Angel broke it down. He felt he might be getting too old to do that sort of thing anymore, but didn't want to waste a second to call in Gunn or Wesley as backup.

Sandalwood incense mingled in the air, vaguely obscuring the scent of smoked marijuana. It was almost a relief to Angel, because it meant the terrified little puke sitting in the chair would be too disoriented to put up a good fight. Hopefully he wasn't too stoned to answer a few questions.

The vampire jumped up out of his seat, stumbling slightly in his fright, and Angel just plowed forward and grabbed him by the collar, lifting up so only his toes brushed the floor.

"Let me down, man," the vampire whimpered.

"Where's the rest of your nest?" Angel asked, glancing around the apartment and then giving the fledgling a menacing look.

"Fuck you, man," the vampire snarled in return.

Angel hoisted him up and flung him across the room, listening to the satisfying crack of the fledgling crashing into a small table. "I'm not in the mood to play games," he informed the dazed minion, walking over and hauling him back to his feet. He changed faces, letting his demon surface. "I feel more up for a slaughter."

"You're out of your mind," the fledgling gasped.

"You'd be surprised how much shit you'd be in if that were true," Angel snickered. "Now, you'd better start entertaining me before I decide to beat you to death, just to liven up my day."

"Wh-what do you want to know?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that," Angel replied. "And spare me the moment of stupidity, and skip straight to the part where you realize what you have to say to keep me from redecorating this trash heap with your entrails. It's a big thing, Johnny. Talk of the town. Or maybe just whispers. Something's been going down, hasn't it?"

"Y-you mean the disappearances?" the fledge stammered.

"Keep talking, and I'll tell you if you're cold or warm," Angel said, releasing the fledgling to the floor.

"It was a few weeks ago, I think. I-I'm not sure, honestly. A lot of vampires went missing, all at once," he paused, to see if Angel was going to tell him to shut up. "There was a panic, but then it just… nothing came of it. It stopped as soon as it started. No one was taken since, but no one came back, either. About a hundred just disappeared overnight. My entire nest just disappeared. They was like brothers to me, man. The worst part's not knowing, you know. No one knows if it was a mass hunt launched by some renegade types or what. I don't know if my buddies are alive or dead. It's been tearing me up, man."

"Were these vampires taken in the same area?" Angel questioned.

The fledgling shook his head. "No, man. They were all over. But there weren't a lot of witnesses, you know? Whatever got them took out everyone who was there."

Angel quietly considered this, and let his face return to its human visage. "For your sake, you'd better have been telling me the truth."

"Are you going to off me, now?" the fledge asked, keeping his chin up.

Angel stared at him, noting that the vampire showed a lot of potential, for a fledgling. If Angelus was still around, he might have even taken the fledge under his wing. "I think your existence will be enough of a punishment," he said, turning on his heel to live.

The fledgling looked confused and pained, and slowly stood up. His entire nest was gone, and he was forced to carry on this way, with nothing but drugs to dull the pain.

"Who am I kidding?" Angel muttered, turning back around and staking the vampire. "I can't have you killing anyone," he said before the vampire exploded into dust. He brushed off his coat and left again, determined to bring his childe home.

* * *

Buffy took the stairs yet again, keeping up her pace to look like she was on duty, yet not rushing to be anywhere.

She was at the main entrance, and entered the lobby, finally closing in on her target.

"Dr. Sutton," Buffy said, catching the doctor's attention. The woman had her coat and keys in hand, ready to leave for the day.

"Yes?" Dr. Sutton asked, beginning to wonder why she kept running into the new security guard.

"Ma'am, do you drive a silver 2004 Toyota Camry?"

"Yes, I do," she answered uneasily. "Is there something the matter?"

"I'm sorry, but you'll want to see this for yourself, ma'am," Buffy said. "I'll show you to the parking lot." They began walking out the front doors, as Buffy lead the nervous doctor outside. Buffy pressed her walkie-talkie to radio in, but she wasn't on the frequency that security used. "This is Summers, escorting Dr. Sutton out the south entrance to the parking lot. Tell the officer we'll be arriving shortly."

"Will I be needing my insurance information?" she questioned anxiously, looking around the parking lot for any red flags. "Where's my car?"

"Follow me, please," Buffy said, surveying the area as she led Dr. Sutton away from the monitors, into a blind spot in the security system.

"I don't understand what the—"

Buffy pulled out a rag covered in chloroform and quickly knocked out the doctor, keeping her hand clamped over the woman's mouth so not a sound escape before she lost consciousness. At the same time her ride pulled up and the back seat popped open, so Buffy could put the doctor into the car swiftly. Dawn help pull her inside, and Buffy climbed in. To anyone who happened to catch a glance of the scene, it might have look like they were both merely getting into the car to leave.

"You guys did good," Buffy praised, keeping her voice calm although she was a little fluttery from actually doing the deed. She and Dawn positioned their hostage carefully and covered her with a blanket so that she wouldn't be spotted by anyone they passed. "Thanks for doing this for me, Xander."

"No problem, " Xander said, casually pulling out of the hospital and merging into traffic. "I play the part of the getaway driver all the time."

* * *

"Easy," Buffy cautioned as they carried their hostage inside. Xander held the door for them in a gentlemanly way.

"I got her," Dawn assured her sister, in charge of holding the woman's legs.

Cordelia surveyed the event somewhat disapprovingly, hands on her hips. "Really, Buffy, you've got questionable parenting skills."

"Good thing Dawn isn't my daughter," Buffy shrugged. "Who's got the rope?"

"Right here," Gunn answered.

"Can I slap her first?" Cordelia asked.

* * *

A cloud seemed to linger around Julie's head when she woke up, keeping her just on the edge of confusion. Before she even opened her eyes, she knew that something was wrong and out of place. When she did open her eyes, she was staring right at the blonde security guard. Her uniform was gone, but she was unmistakable. They never should have hired her.

"Let me go," Julie said, her words coming out slightly slurred. She sat up and struggled against ropes that held her fast to a chair, and soon adrenaline chased her drowsiness away. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Hopefully nothing," Buffy answered. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

"You're going to be arrested for this," she said, relaxing against her bonds unwillingly. Someone must have seen them take her. Someone would realize she wasn't home by now.

"You're not going to alert the authorities," Giles said. "Because as long as you cooperate with us, we're not going to harm you in any way. We know for a fact that one of the patients you treated was Galen. Surely that name means something to you. We'd like to believe you wouldn't do anything to harm him."

"Who are you?"

"People who care about him," Buffy answered.

Julie froze, wondering why they suspected her of hurting anyone. "What happened to him?"

"He's disappeared," Giles said. "But before he did, he was suffering terrible sickness."

"He was bleeding profusely," Buffy stated, arms folded. "You were his doctor. What the hell kind of medication did you give him, you sadistic bitch?"

"I tried to help him!" Julie cried out, gritting her teeth. "I care for all of my patients. It was that law firm, Wolfram and Hart. They have some of the doctors under their influence, but I wasn't going to be one of them. Lilah Morgan herself told me to put him on a poison that would destroy all of his internal organs. They must have gotten those pills to him anyway, but it wasn't _me_. I dumped out those pills… I gave him _vitamins_."

Buffy glanced at Giles, and Julie was relieved to see that they seemed to believe her.

"Do you know why Wolfram and Hart was so interested in him?" Buffy questioned.

Julie tried to think of a reason, but ended up shaking her head. "There were a lot of experimental drugs going around. I hated being used like that, but if you care about him, you should realize that I'm not someone you should hate. The only reason I didn't walk away was because I knew that they would get someone to replace me at the drop of a hat. Someone who wouldn't care what they injected him with," she bit her lip, knowing that it wasn't much better with her holding the needle, either. She couldn't change whatever was inside. "I bought him some time."

Buffy tried to make sense of everything they knew so far, but nothing clicked. There was usually a reason for such cruelty, but it seemed like Wolfram and Hart had been tormenting Spike for no other reason than to make him suffer, and to make everyone who met him suffer through helplessly watching him die.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said to Julie, and then turned and left, unable to face herself. "Let her go," she added before she went outside to recover.

The bindings were starting to make Julie a little panicky, and she was relieved when Gunn loosened the ropes. "Thank you," she said, pulling her arms free. She had to bite her tongue to manage to be nice to the people who had kidnapped her.

"Terribly sorry for this," Giles said. "But thank you for being cooperative."

"I'd be more outraged by this, but I… I don't honestly know who's done more damage," Julie admitted.

* * *

The lobby was silent when Angel returned. He was beginning to suspect that Cordelia had ripped the phone out of the wall at some point, because they hadn't had a call for a long time.

"You missed all the fun," Cordelia told him.

"You already kidnapped the doctor?" Angel questioned, surprised by their quickness.

"She came, she confessed, and then Xander and Gunn drove her back," Cordelia shrugged. "As long as the cops weren't looking for her, we're golden."

"So she's not going to tell?" Angel asked skeptically.

"She's guilt-tripping or something," Cordelia answered.

Angel walked towards Buffy, who looked like she was also 'guilt-tripping', as Cordelia so elegantly put it. "What did have to say?"

"Galen was basically a guinea pig," Buffy shrugged half-heartedly. "She wasn't Florence Nightingale, but she wasn't Dr. Mengele, either. Someone else was pulling the strings. She named Lilah Morgan."

"Galen would be a very expensive guinea pig," Giles said. "All of the effort to bring him back… it doesn't make any sense why they wouldn't just use regular people or vampires. Unless he was specific to what they wanted."

"They did use regular vampires," Angel said, surprising them. "Lorne came through with a hot tip. Apparently a few weeks back, a bunch of vampires went missing, possibly up to a hundred."

"Why wouldn't we have heard of that?" Wesley frowned.

"Well, according to the vampire who told me that, there weren't many witnesses left around to tell the tale," Angel said. "Whenever some vampires were taken, everyone in the area was taken."

"Just like the home," Buffy said in disbelief.

"They were gathering test subjects," Giles murmured to himself.

"Maybe trying to figure out the best formula to use on him," Angel suggested, half-guessing.

"We need Willow," Buffy said. "We need a locator spell now."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Buffy, but I can't get anything on Galen," Willow objected helplessly. "Wolfram and Hart threw a big old lock on him. Basically, he doesn't exist. He might…" she trailed off, very hesitant to say what she was thinking. "He might be dead, Buffy."

"He isn't dead," Buffy declared, as if she could make it true by words alone.

"Then they're locking me out," Willow said, quick to agree with her friend.

"Find a key, then," Buffy told her.

Willow sighed and looked down at her little map. "It'll have to be a big key."

"Then do it," Buffy said. "Find her the biggest key you can get, Wesley."

"I have one in mind, but it hasn't been successfully done in a thousand years," Wesley warned.

"Then no one like Willow has been around for a thousand years," Kennedy stated.

"Everyone who's attempted it has died," Wesley cautioned Willow. "They couldn't channel the magic well enough."

"My girl breaths magic," Kennedy said confidently, while Willow quivered like a leaf. "Baby, you can do this."

"Maybe," Willow said. "If we take precautions."

"You'll have us," Giles told her. "Keep your head about you, and we'll keep you grounded."

Buffy studied Willow for a moment, incredibly proud of Willow's bravery. "Could you do it?"

"Of course I can," Willow said with a tight-lipped smile. "The world hasn't seen a more powerful witch in a thousand years."

"Glad to hear it. What do you need?"

* * *

"This should be the key to the spell," Willow said, taking the rag from Cordelia. "Thanks for picking this out of the trash."

"That's not the worst thing I've ever had to do," Cordelia shrugged, leaving to wash her hands.

The center of the lobby was now Willow's workshop. Her spell ingredients were set up inside of a large pentacle that had been drawn onto the floor. Her main offerings sat in the center, where she would kneel, and other elemental objects sat inside four of the five pentacle points. The fifth corner had three candles, waiting to be lit.

"I've never done anything this big," Willow warned. "I'm not sure if I'll need all of your help, but it would be a good idea."

"You have us," Buffy promised her.

"What can I do to help?" Kennedy asked, petting Willow's hair.

"Uh," Willow laughed nervously. "Pour the circle of salt? I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's better if you sit this one out. I need your support, though."

Kennedy didn't let any trace of disappointment show on her face. "I'll be your salt girl."

Willow smiled and turned to face her friends while Kennedy made the circle complete. "Obviously, I'll be in the center. I need five of you to help me. I think that it will work best if it's people who knew Spike the best, though. Angel, obviously you've had the longest history with Spike out of any of us here. And Buffy, you've known him for years, and you love the guy, so I want you sitting right in front of me. Xander, you also knew Spike for just as long, as well as Giles. Wesley, I know you didn't ever really pal around with Spike or anything, but I need your strength. With all of us working together, this will be a piece of chocolate cake."

"I knew Spike more than Wesley," Dawn objected.

"I know, sweetie, but I don't want to risk you," Willow said apologetically. "Your big sis would kill me."

"Keep Fred company," Buffy told her sister before stepping into the pentacle, taking her place in front of Willow's offerings.

"Before I commit to the Crazy Circle, you're not going to be coughing up any snakes this time, are you?" Xander asked. "Because I may just toss my cookies."

Willow smiled. "No, Xan. I hope not, anyway."

"Needless to say, I don't want to be a frog again, either," Xander added, choosing one of the points to stand on, between Buffy and Angel.

"This is a frog-free spell," Willow said. "But there's a bit of blood," she cautioned, "and if I see any fangs, a certain vampire is going to get thrown out of the circle."

"I'll be good," Angel said defensively.

Willow went to the center of the pentacle and knelt down, lighting three candles. She laid the rag down on the floor, resting the small dish of herbs and her athame on top of it. It was one of the cloths that had been used to mop up Galen's blood, and was thoroughly stained with it. Wesley and Giles closed the circle, and Willow closed her eyes to clear her mind before she began.

"Goddess Nephthys, Protector of the Dead, I summon you forth," she prayed, lifting her knife and spreading her hands over her offering place. "Reveal to me the answers that I seek. Let your child be found. By my blood, I call you." She drew the blade across her palm, ignoring the pain when the skin sliced open, and calmly closed her fist, squeezing the blood out of her palm to drip over the herbs.

Darkness seemed to close in around the room, which Giles took as a good sign, however worrying. A glow began to build over Willow, and they wondered if the witch realized that she was only a few steps away from being considered a deity, herself.

"Mother Nephthys, Guardian of the Lost, I command you to hear my plea," Willow continued, her eyes darkening. "Free your child from this obscuring spell. Pull back the veil and reveal him to me."

The magical tension that had built up in the air like static electricity seemed to suddenly discharge. A wave of darkness swept over the room like a phantom wind, and at the same time the candle flickered and quietly went out. Smoke trailed up into the air. The lights flickered and dimmed, and Willow stood up, looking around with the others.

The darkness seemed to physically settle at the back of the room, and a form pulled out of the shadows slowly. A humanoid figure stepped out from the shadows, as if out of thin air. The sight of blonde hair and black clothes made Buffy's heart flutter for a moment as she tried to understand what she was seeing. Their first impression was that it was Spike, but the usual, delicate spark of life he used to exhibit had been snuffed out. His pallid complexion seemed sickly, and green veins stood out starkly on his skin, making him look like a corpse.

"Spike," Buffy said, confused.

"Mum doesn't make house calls anymore," Spike murmured as an explanation. His presence seemed lazy and he spoke languidly, but with precise, biting tones. Despite his apparent lack of vivacity, there was an underlying sense that he could be as dangerous as a razor's edge if they rubbed him the wrong way.

Angel grabbed Buffy's shoulder, holding her back before she wandered towards him like a mesmerized child. "Don't go near him. That isn't Spike."

"I'm as much Spike as that sorry excuse for a soul," the spirit glowered, moving closer to them. They could see that his eyes were a blank white, the color of spoiled milk. The group dispersed and backed away, none willing to find out what would happen if he caught one of them.

"You don't belong here," Willow told him, and Kennedy touched her arm for support. "You aren't welcome. I can block you out."

The spirit stopped at the edge of the pentacle, kicking away salt, and touched his chest in mock hurt. "Such harsh words," he said. "Now you've gone and broken me heart." He changed to a curious expression, feeling over his chest. "No, wait… I haven't got any. What a relief. You have no idea how much of an inconvenience those can be. Your girlfriend does, though. The dead one."

Willow's fists clenched, eyes dilating to a deep black. "Leave," she grit out with full authority in her voice. "_Now_. I won't have you making a mockery of my friends."

"After you went through so much trouble to conjure me?" Spike questioned, crouching down over her offerings admiring them absently.

"I didn't conjure anything," Willow denied, beginning to question herself.

"Didn't you?" Spike arched an eyebrow in perfect mimicry of the dead vampire. "You've been doing nothing but conjuring for the last twenty-four hours. Spell after spell, gods and goddesses. You burned through them like you were striking matches, desperately looking for the right flame. And now?" he clapped his hands together loudly and then spread his arms. "You've got me. It's not good practice to piss off the being you wanted to see in the first place."

"His form is merely an illusion," Wesley said. "It's just a chimera of memories and magic. There is nothing substantial there, and nothing worth keeping. Send him away, Willow."

"You can't destroy me, witch," Spike contradicted. "You didn't create me."

"But I can block you out," Willow said confidently. "You have no real form, no place in this plane of existence. You're less than a ghost here. You're an echo of a ghost."

"I beg to differ," Spike murmured, picking up her blade and playing with it. Willow nearly fainted when she realized he was tangible, but then he licked the edge of the knife, sealing the deal with the traces of her blood.

"Now you can't do _anything_ to me."


	21. Sacrificed

_**Previously:**_

_"I didn't conjure anything," Willow denied, beginning to question herself._

_"Didn't you?" Spike arched an eyebrow in perfect mimicry of the dead vampire. "You've been doing nothing but conjuring for the last twenty-four hours. Spell after spell, gods and goddesses. You burned through them like you were striking matches, desperately looking for the right flame. And now?" he clapped his hands together loudly and then spread his arms. "You've got me. It's not good practice to piss off the being you wanted to see in the first place."_

_"His form is merely an illusion," Wesley said. "It's just a chimera of memories and magic. There is nothing substantial there, and nothing worth keeping. Send him away, Willow."_

_"You can't destroy me, witch," Spike contradicted. "You didn't create me."_

_"But I can block you out," Willow said confidently. "You have no real form, no place in this plane of existence. You're less than a ghost here. You're an echo of a ghost."_

_"I beg to differ," Spike murmured, picking up her blade and playing with it. Willow nearly fainted when she realized he was tangible, but then he licked the edge of the knife, sealing the deal with the traces of her blood. _

_"Now you can't do **anything** to me."_

* * *

**Now:**

The soulless white eyes stared back at Buffy, beginning to burn holes in her. She was quaking with the effort not to tear at him, and claw the eyes out of his head.

"How dare you pretend to be him," Buffy managed to say, barely able to stand the sight of him.

Quietly, Dawn inched open the cabinet door and pulled a scimitar free. "Buffy!" she cried out, tossing her sister the weapon.

Immediately, Buffy caught the scimitar and prepared to drive it into the demon's heart when Willow jumped in front of her with a shriek of fright.

"**Stop, Buffy! If you kill him, you kill me!**"

The blade just barely touched Willow's shirt. The red head let a small sob, unsure of whether she should be more frightened of the slayer in front of her or the entity behind her. Buffy stared hard at the demon over Willow's shoulder. She dropped the blade, and it clattered to the floor loudly. Buffy felt her heart crush in a similar way, but wouldn't give into any tears in front of the likes of him.

"Just a bit of insurance," the demon said to Buffy.

"We will find a way to get rid of you," Buffy solemnly swore.

"You won't have to," Spike replied, amused by her perseverance. "When my part is done, I will return from whence I came. You ought to get your money's worth out of me, though. Your little witch did pay with her blood, after all."

"You'd better start talking, then," Angel suggested, stepping forward to stare down the demon.

Eyes the color of cracked ice bore into Angel's dark brown gaze for a long moment. The demon turned off from the stare, passively, to Angel's relief, but he wasn't sure for how long.

"Your boy went missing," the demon said, slipping back to prowl the abandoned half of the hotel. He toyed with Willow's athame, turning it over and over in his hands. "That's a pity."

"You're not saying anything we don't already know," Buffy said, with an edge of impatience.

The rotten eyes glowed dully in the dim light as he looked her over. "You still want to fuck him," he said. Buffy closed her eyes against the words, finding them to be typical. "And he doesn't want to fuck you."

Buffy looked at Willow. "Can I still hit him?"

The witch kept her mouth closed, but shook her head no.

"Deep down inside, he only craves death," the demon continued darkly, as if burdened to share the words. "Quietly burns for the grave the way a normal man desires a woman."

"He only speaks half-truths," Angel said, knowing the tricks of the trade. "Every world-weary person is guilty of wanting the grave once in a while."

"Then I haven't lied to you," Spike pointed out, impressed. "But his morbid streak runs a bit deeper than that. I've existed in the back of his thoughts. I know the forces that drive him to madness. Somewhere, he remembers what he was. He doesn't know how to fight the compulsion to kill. He doesn't have a toehold in this life to guide him or keep him grounded."

"So he _was_ Spike," Buffy said.

"Once upon a time," Spike said, continuing with sneering tones beginning to creep into his words. "Now he's just muddled inside. For a man who doesn't understand how to be human, he clings to anything that's offered to him. He clings to little thoughts of you, slayer, and what life might be. He thought of your pain, and that's why he bashed his wrists when he really just wanted to dash his brains out."

"Does it make you feel better about yourself?" Buffy questioned flatly, doing her best to block herself from listening to what he said and dwelling on it.

"All of the blood frightens you, but it's like home to him, really. He doesn't remember his life, but he knows the blood and the pain. Those belong to him. The only thing that frightens him about it is the little voice that tells him that's all there is for him in this world, and the knowledge of his own mortality."

"Are you done cutting him down?" Buffy asked, keeping her arms tight across her stomach, as if to hold together an invisible wound.

"I haven't cut him down," Spike smiled slowly, trailing the blade across his palm lazily, mimicking a cut. "I've only slit him open and splayed out the flesh. Maybe you just don't like seeing the truth."

"I don't care for your color of the truth."

"They're doing the same to him," Spike said, closing his eyes as if to envision the torment, and ran his hands across an invisible surface, and then pressed Willow's knife into his skin. "Digging into the flesh, into the bone. They're pulling apart the wounds."

"Who is?" Buffy demanded to know. "Wolfram and Hart? _Lilah_?"

Spike opened his eyes again, looking directly at Buffy, the dead-eyed stare making her inwardly flinch. "There's nothing you can do for him, Slayer. Just let him go… he'll be with me, soon."

* * *

The bright fluorescent lights in the offices made Lilah's eyes ache for a moment before she adjusted. Really, someone ought to make a few adjustments to the dungeon to give it some better lighting. Then again, a good set of lights would probably give the prisoners too much… hope. It was a disgusting thing, like cockroaches, and no matter how many times they stomped it out, it just seemed to grow back. Pesky, that.

She moved through the hallway, snapping a glare at some vermin intern who had the gall to look at her with anything other than fear. When she reached her boss's office, she knocked lightly at the door and then entered quietly, waiting for him to end a phone call. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her immaculate hands together, as if to get rid of the blood that thoroughly stained them.

"You wanted to see me?" she smiled with easy perfection when her boss put down the phone and leaned back in his seat to study her.

"Close the door, Lilah."

She waited only half a second before calmly closing the door.

"Have a seat."

Lilah casually sat down on the sinfully luxurious chair and brushed her hair behind her ear. "You'll be pleased to hear that we have Angel's childe downstairs."

"Lilah. The project has been terminated."

She sat very still, waiting for him to tell her that the agenda had changed slightly. "Sir? Uh… excuse me, but we've invested a lot in resurrecting Angel's little twerp. The plan will work perfectly-"

"Not that, Lilah," he said, picking up a pen and casually tapping it against the desk. "All of our test subjects were destroyed during the experimental drug trials. The other ones were useless – they had to be taken to the pits."

"I don't see the problem, sir," Lilah said. "Frankly, our clients don't care about the well-being of a few vampires. They're just about the lowest link on the food chain."

"They were too far gone to even be controlled long enough to be useful," he said, beginning to become annoyed with her resistance against his commands. "Our clients don't want to invest in a product that doesn't work."

"I understand, sir," Lilah said. "But we still have Angel's childe. Our plan could still work."

"No, Lilah," he shook his head. "I've seen Angel's boy. He's been damaged, and wouldn't be any good to us. He'll make wonderful bait, but he's no Darla. She was one in a million, my dear."

"Yes, she was, sir," Lilah agreed.

"Take him to the pits," her boss decided. "But raise the admittance fee. We need to recover some of our lost revenues, and the clients will enjoy watching him get ripped to shreds. One more thing, before I let you go… when Angel does come after his boy, do make sure that he finds his way inside easily."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

"I've been trying to get him to kill himself, but he wouldn't take," Spike said with an air of annoyance and distaste. He lazily played with Willow's knife, the key to his full manifestation, while he sat on the stairs.

Willow stopped short, staring at him in horror. "You're a horrible person."

"Oh. Sweet child. You've made me see the errors of my sinful ways," Spike deadpanned. "Besides, that was months ago and he _didn't take_. I let it go. What else do you expect from me?"

"You only care about yourself," Buffy stated bitterly, full of resentment.

Spike tilted his head, full of marvel. "You truly understand me."

His sudden softness towards her made Buffy even more indignant. "You're a disgusting, vile creature."

He chuckled, tongue in cheek. "Love you too, baby."

"I am _not_ your baby," Buffy ground out forcefully.

"Wasn't too long ago, you wanted me," Spike pointed out.

"I would _never_ want you!" Buffy yelled at him, incensed and beginning to worry that her friends might believe it was true, although they didn't show any signs of even listening to what Spike had to say. They were focused on cleaning up the spell, and trying to sort out what to do next, but Spike wasn't giving them any good information. "You're everything I could never love."

"I am _all_ of him that ever loved you," Spike growled, rising to his feet. "And I'm all of him that you loved. You sure as hell didn't love him with a soul. In fact, you told him just that."

"And I told him later that he was a champion, and that I loved him," Buffy said defensively, knowing that his statement was true.

"You had to grow to love that side of him, because you're too much of a conniving bitch to decide what a man has to do to please you," Spike snarled out, crossing to room to stare her down directly. "If you're so hell bent on shutting me out, then you're shutting out everything that you deemed worthwhile. Everything you let _inside_ you, because I was strong enough to stay there with you."

"He's strong enough for me," Buffy said quietly, stubbornly defending her love, but she was beginning to realize just how blind she was.

"He will be, when we've merged again," Spike said. "Everyday, our bond is a little stronger. His memories are subliminal for now, but they'll seep through soon enough."

"I'm not going to let that happen," Buffy said.

"_That's not your choice_."

"I'm not going to let him remember all of those horrible things again," Buffy said, more loudly. "He'll be better off for it – he'll never turn out like _you_."

"What you really mean is, you don't want him to have any reasons not to love you," Spike countered. "You don't want him to remember what you really are, and all of the horrible things you did to him and put him through. You don't want him to realize that you've never listened to him, never trusted him or given him any shred of dignity that he didn't have to fight tooth and nail for. All his life, he's had to fight for the basic rights that are freely granted to everyone else."

"That's going to change," Buffy vowed quietly.

"I don't think so. I don't think it's physically possible for you to let yourself grant him any small favors. He'll end up having to go through hell before you let him come inside you, because you love your men to be broken and bleeding for you."

She set her jaw, unwilling to flinch in his sight. "You're connected to him, aren't you?"

"I am."

"So go find him," Buffy grit out, her fists clenched to tightly by her sides that they started to tremble. "And make sure he's _alright_. Or is that too much trouble for you?"

Spike waited a long moment. He tightly clenched the blade of the athame. "I'm not letting this go."

"Then don't. Do you think I care? I'll care more if he dies, so why don't you go make yourself _useful_?"

He gave her a withering look, a muscle in his jaw visibly tightening. The blade cracked in his fist, and he shifted the shards of metal around in his bloody palm as if he were holding a few bits of shale. "I'm only doing it for him," he stated. With that, he faded to wisps of materialized darkness, which evaporated quickly, like boiled-off water.

"Buffy," Willow said quietly, uncertain.

"Don't, Willow," Buffy said pleadingly, suddenly feeling very tired. "Don't say anything."

"I just… maybe he is the other half of Spike, like when Xander was split in two. The spell keeping them apart – keeping Galen's memories away – it must be wearing away," Willow said, becoming concerned by Buffy's apparent despair. "It's not a bad thing!" she said, going to Buffy and trying to get her friend to look her in the eye. "You really think it will be better for Galen if he's just left out in the void?"

"Please, Wil, I don't want to be judged," Buffy said, pressing her hand to her brow and trying to think.

"No one is going to judge you, Buffy," Willow assured her. "I'm your friend, remember? At least, I used to be."

Buffy dropped her hand and looked Willow directly in the face, scared by her words. "I'm still your friend."

"So tell me what's wrong."

"Even if… Even if Spike finds Galen, he's not going to tell us where he is," Buffy said. "All he wants is for their separation to end, whether it's by the spell breaking, or death. I don't think he's going to tell me anything, just for the sake of keeping Galen away from me."

Willow nodded in understanding. "We can find him ourselves. The spell broke their obscuring mojo, so doing a locator will be a cinch."

"How long will it take?" Buffy questioned.

"As long as it takes to get Cordelia to pull that rag out of the trash again."

* * *

Raw pain jolted through Galen's side when he hit the ground bonelessly. Breathing came hard, trying to pull salt through a broken cage. The magnets were too strong, nearly crushing. He didn't move, too disoriented to even register with any part of reality. His brain was a frothing, mellow sea of Mountain Dew. In the back of his mind, he was staring at an upside-down world from the fortress in his bed, and he wasn't the one who was crazy.

The tides were turning, but all of the bubbles boiled out of the sea, and it lost its fizz. He wanted to hide underneath himself, but couldn't get away from the danger zone in time to stop the sky from burning.

Slowly, the maggots kept building up, slipping over his arms like small mouths. They piled around him like vile black rice, but the cat had no smile.

_Why are you sleeping_?

The dark voice was in his head again, like a sharp thought at the base of his skull. Galen lifted his head from his bed, blaming the scorpion for his pain. But the scorpion ate up all the maggots, and they subsided to shivers and feverish tears.

"I dozed off," he mumbled.

'You need to wake up, then.'

The voice was louder, but still unreal – a nest of hornets in his head. Galen hunched his shoulders and started trying to tear his ears off to get out the sound.

The presence only seemed to grow, making the air heavier around him. Galen shivered, but did not flinch away when lips brushed against his ear, and a cool breath played against his skin. "Wake up."

"I'm awake," Galen said quietly, slowly stretching out his arms and then moving to get up.

His hands hurt, pushing hard against the biting dirt and the pull of gravity. His weight increased and then lessened again, and he managed to get to his knees. The dirt was real. It hurt him like shards of ice and broken salt.

He felt too awkward and out of place, to a point where he felt light-headed just from breathing. His sore wrists were bare, his body naked and utterly defenseless.

"Where are my clothes?" Galen asked weakly, as if he'd lost his voice somewhere.

"You never had any clothes, and you know that," the Other said harshly, but to the point. The voice was strong, but the words didn't hurt him.

"All you ever are – all you ever _have_ – is the muscle on your back. Get on your feet."

Galen shuddered and managed to stand up. Shades of darkness mocked him, and he loathed being debased in a hell like this. There were edges of pure darkness in his sight, which worried him. On the other spectrum of his sight, however, he could almost detect the Other, like a phantom color.

"You pushed me."

"Did you ever even hit the ground?"

Scattering noises made Galen's skin crawl and itch itself off. The darkness spread like a cancerous entity while he watched. All he could smell was the stench of his own blood, which stained every inch of his body.

"No," Galen said, letting something go inside, like a thread had been cut. "The cement broke my fall."

Spike grinned, even as the demons started to swarm into a feeding frenzy. The oily creatures were over stimulated from the rancid, dried blood that covered Galen, and from the larval prey that had been dumped into the pit like chum. He only felt a vague sympathetic twinge in his stomach when Galen was taken down by the swarm, screaming as chunks of flesh were ripped from him by their furious mandibles.

He stepped into the swarm and clapped his hand down on Galen's naked shoulder, almost jovially, as he leant over to speak to his favorite blood.

"Then you'll have to dig."

Galen's sudden laughter made Spike smile and back away, letting the child suffer through his retributions alone. Clotted black blood began to ooze as Galen furiously crushed the insects in his fists, or smashed their shells against the ground. The laughter continued, growing more forceful and louder still to keep himself from screaming as the swarm started tearing him to pieces.


	22. Nor Shall Death Brag

**_A/N: Title from William Shakespeare_**

**_Chapter revised slightly._**

* * *

Things were going to change, drastically. At the moment, she could not tell where things might fall.

Buffy sat alone in the dark, curled up on the couch with a mug of tea. The hot brew barely warmed her fingers; she felt cold all over, and continuously turned over the situation in her mind, trying to examine it as much as possible. Spike could return to her, exactly as he had been. Almost. The entity seemed to have been collecting more knowledge, even while it should have been in a suspended state. Not to mention it had been given form, as if it were twisted up into the spell that had been blocking Galen from them.

Galen was such a good guy. He was sweet to her, even if he was insecure, and he had a sense of humor, and a soul. He had his bad days, but he was only human. On the other hand, Spike – the entity – was bad news. He was crude and caustic with his words. He was manipulative and soulless, and only cared about himself.

She didn't understand why it was necessary for Galen to merge with Spike. He didn't need memories full of murder and violence. He was fine the way he was, and she could win him over completely, the right way this time. He didn't need to remember every broken bone she had given him, or every broken heart, because she wasn't sure if he would mend again.

"A man without a past has no future."

The voice didn't surprise her, but Buffy shifted her eyes apprehensively, now aware of a subtle swell in the darkness. A mere outline of the entity's dark form could be seen.

"So. You're just gonna start sprouting off proverbs now?" Buffy wondered.

"He told you something like that, himself," Spike murmured, stepping out of the shadows, which followed him like smoke, wrapping around him and adding to his solidity. "It's true, you know. It's actually next to impossible for him to envision a future. Half of the reason why he can't love you is because he can't envision what a relationship is. He's never had one with you, much less anyone else."

"You talk a lot."

"You're still thinking of ways to get rid of me," Spike noticed.

"Are you a mind reader now?" Buffy asked, setting down her mug on a coffee table to give him a look. "You have no idea what I'm thinking."

"You're thinking of how Galen would be like putty in your hands if I never put another thought into his head. How he'd tremble for your every attention, and you'd be his first, and you'd be his best."

It was almost offensive, that he would think so ill of her, but she kept her reserve. "I was thinking of how I'm ever going to let him go," Buffy replied. "You see, I actually care about his well-being. All I want is for him to be happy. Naturally, I'd prefer him to be happy with _me_. That may make me a terribly selfish person, but it's how I feel. I also know that if he decided he was happier with someone else, I'd have to let him go."

"How noble of you, Slayer."

"It's not noble, but I wouldn't stop him," Buffy said, knowing that when that day came, she would have to get far away to let him live in peace. It would hurt to much to be so near, and not allowed to touch. To have so much love for him and not have it recognized or returned. "Did you find him?"

"I did," Spike responded.

"Where is he?"

"Don't rightly know," Spike said honestly. "I only followed our connection, and it brought me to him."

"Spike," Buffy said, sitting forward. "Anything will be helpful."

"I don't want to help you."

"Why?" Buffy tilted her head. "Because you want us to fail? You have two options, don't you? Galen can die, or he can live long enough for you to be with him again," Buffy said, holding up both hands in a scale-like gesture for visual emphasis. "Either way, you win. What's the difference if we have a chance to save him? You win no matter what."

"If you save him, you'll try to destroy me," Spike said, with just an inch of fear in his voice, covering it by stepping up to her boldly. The darkness of the room flared, as if triggered by his distemper. "Death is a better bet."

"So you'll let Wolfram and Hart do this to him?" Buffy said skeptically, noting that it seemed to make him a little angrier. "I promise we won't destroy you."

A tense second passed, and then the darkness abated. "Underground," Spike told her. "In a pit. There were some spectators. That's all I know, honestly."

"Spectators?" Buffy repeated, confused. "Is he okay?"

"There's not much left now, except for muscle."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy asked, trying to envision what he meant.

"He's losing more flesh than he can spare," Spike said, stopping in front of her. "It'll make it tricky to hold him, then."

Buffy quivered from the words, and the intense compulsion to do something to end whatever torments Galen was being subjected to. She knew she had to sit by for a while, however, and knowing it just made her ache in the pit of her stomach. "I suppose if I ask you what's happening to him, you're not going to tell me?"

Spike merely smiled and crouched down a bit, until their faces were level, noses barely touching. The ache in her stomach intensified. "I should… be there with him. In case he passes."

"Tell him we're coming for him."

"I can't do that," Spike shook his head ever so slightly. The glossy white eyes made her feel null and sick inside, but the sight of him was wreaking hell on her emotions.

"Why the hell not?"

"He has to find his own hope," Spike said. "He has to dig."

Frustration was mounting. "I don't understand."

Spike took a breath that seemed to burn away all of the air for her to breathe.

"I'm taking him away from you."

Buffy kept her jaw tight, but her chin began to tremble ever so slightly, which made Spike smile. He leaned in close suddenly, in such an unexpectedly tender and intimate way that it stroked the ache in her stomach to a kindled flame. Buffy automatically gave into the impulsive action, eyes closing. His lips never touched hers, however, and she opened her eyes, surprised to see nothing but wisps of pure black smoke disappearing into the air.

Shame immediately washed over her for what she had unthinkingly done. Buffy drew back onto the couch for only a second before she jumped up and went into the kitchen, grabbing the phone.

"Willow? Cordelia, get Willow on the phone," Buffy said as soon as her call was answered. She waited until Willow came onto the other line, clutching the phone tightly until she heard her friend's voice.

"Willow, I know where Galen is."

* * *

"Where's Casper?" Xander asked.

"He's not coming back," Buffy said curtly, and then to Angel, "You were right about drawing him out if I were alone. He told me that he found Galen underground, in some sort of… pit."

"Like a pit for fighting?" Wesley wondered.

"I don't know," Buffy shrugged, busily moving around to gather weapons. "He said that Galen was losing more flesh than he could spare. Whatever he has to fight against, he's not going to survive. It's why Spike left. He's waiting for Galen to die."

Fred sighed sadly, "Like a reaper."

"We need to save him, then," Dawn said determinedly.

"Where is he, exactly?" Cordelia wondered.

"The locator spell said Wolfram and Hart, and Spike says he was underground," Buffy said. "That's enough for me."

"The place probably has elevators that go straight to hell," Wesley said more skeptically.

"Then we're looking for a dungeon," Angel said. "We need to figure out a game plan. I want everyone in on this."

"Some of us are muscle," Buffy said, nodding to Kennedy and Gunn, already knowing that she and Angel were included in that department. "And some of us need to be the brains," she glanced at Fred and Wesley. "And some of us need to be the magicians."

"Witch is fine," Willow said, and turned her attention to Giles. "I'm thinking of some heavy-duty protection spells. Buffy, you said that Spike claimed he was going to be with Galen?"

"He said he should be there with him. In case Galen died. Do you think he lied?"

"Not if he sincerely believes Galen will die," Angel said. "He'll want to be as close to him as possible."

"I think it'll be even easier to find Galen, then," Willow said, somewhat breathless with excitement.

"How? You'll trace him?" Buffy asked.

"Kind of," Willow nodded. "Since Spike and I are connected, I can pick up on where he is… but only if I really focus. He's been holding me off, but I get the feeling that he must be weaker around Galen or something, because it's gotten easier…."

"Use it," Buffy urged her. "Do we know how we're going to get in?"

"Front door," Angel said.

"Is that wise?" Giles questioned, shocked.

"If a vampire enters any points of that building, Wolfram and Hart will know about it," Angel said. "So we should just forget about finesse and skip straight to the killing part. Take them by surprise. I want to tear open the front of that building. Shatter every window in the place, if you want."

"You're asking for a very tall magical order," Giles pointed out.

"So we're gonna need a supercharge," Willow replied. "Can you get the coven on the line?"

"More importantly, will they help us?" Buffy pressed.

Giles looked a bit flustered by the whole thing. "I'm sure they will, but it means we won't be ready to go until tomorrow."

"Then it'll be tomorrow, but I need everything to be completely ready," Buffy said, stressing her words. She had a brief, insane idea that she didn't want to entertain, but the more she pushed it away the more her mind wanted to consider it. She could possibly find more reinforcements.

"What are _we_ supposed to do?" Dawn asked.

"You're not doing anything," Buffy responded. "I don't want you in there."

"With all of you there, I'd be fine," Dawn fussed, and then sighed. "What about Xander? Are you leaving him out of this, too?"

"Sorry, Dawnie," Xander said. "Some of us need to be the getaway drivers. You can ride along, though."

Buffy looked exasperated, but knew she had to give in about something, or else Dawn was likely to start a one-girl army. "Absolutely no getting out of the car."

"That leaves me hotel-sitting," Cordelia's voice was tight, and she folded her arms. She knew Buffy had it out for her, but never thought the slayer would actually go so low as to completely cut her out of an important-

"No," Buffy said unexpectedly, stopping her train of thought. "I have a very important task for you."

* * *

The gates drew back with a rusty, grating sound. A rank smell swept by when the entrance to the pit was opened. The chamber reeked of blood, sweat, and the hundreds of crushed demons, oozing a collectively vile black sludge.

"Impressive," Lilah sighed, surveying the destruction. A few of the demons still survived, but they were lost amongst the corpses of their own kind, chewing on bits of human flesh and the bitter meat of their own species.

Two armed soldiers in black swept past Lilah, hastily clearing out a path. They busily shoved the large, black, insect-like demons aside. Lilah briefly considered and approved of the path and then crossed the bloodstained dirt to see Galen, who had collapsed in a pathetic heap.

Massive amounts of skin had been striped away by the demons, leaving thin tissue to cover the muscles. It was as if he had been filleted alive. Fresh blood and drying black demon sludge coated the old layer of blood. She glanced around at the massacre again, unable to believe that Galen had been able to save his life, but not his skin. A swarm this size should have striped an adult male in ten minutes, killing him in only three.

"You made a big mess," Lilah said, a bit mockingly. "But I am impressed." She turned her head, to address her men. "Clean him off and take him to one of the biopsy rooms. Boss is gonna want to see what makes this one tick."

"Yes, ma'am." The soldiers went to pick up Galen, but he reacted violently, like some bloodstained creature.

"The captive's gone feral, ma'am," one of the soldiers grunted as four collaborated to momentarily restrain him. Any concern was hardly needed, however. As soon as Galen tried to grab one of the soldiers, a hard blow to the hard knocked him back to the ground, where they positively rounded on him. Hard-soled boots kicked Galen in the chest, stomach, and genitals with violent force, forcing him to curl protectively away from the assault. A loud murmur of disapproval rose overhead, followed by a brief cheer when a rifle cold-cocked Galen in the head with a loud crack, knocking him unconscious.

Lilah look upwards at the crowd. There were many people and demons who had paid good money to see Aurelian blood spilled and were now demanding it. But killing Galen was far off the agenda now, and it had been a fair gamble on whether the man would live or die. Their fickle wants meant little to her at the moment, and the crowd was too small, too far away to be anything more than mimes to her, voiceless except for the collective disapproval over the outcome of the show.

She turned on heel, leaving the room through the entrance gate. "Clean that crap up," she ordered a soldier at his post as she passed. At the other end of the corridor, the other soldiers were loading Galen onto a stretcher. She'd love to wait around to be there when he woke up, but she had to talk to her boss first. It would be awhile before he regained consciousness, anyway, and he was turning out to be more valuable than they thought.

* * *

After many thousands of years, the impossible arrived for Buffy. Golden warmth filled the lobby of the Hyperian, accompanied by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bitter herbs. She was exhausted, but far too alert with every fiber of her being to sleep. She would never sleep until Galen was home with her, safe and sound.

"Daylight," Xander said, standing beside Buffy.

"It came too soon," Buffy murmured softly.

"But not soon enough," Xander added. "And we still have to wait until sundown so FangBoy can tag along. Wouldn't it be much easier if he sat this one out?"

Buffy turned to give Xander a look. "He's one of the strongest people here."

"So's Kennedy," Xander replied with a sigh.

"I need both of them," Buffy said. "And he… needs to do this. Spike was his childe. It's important to him."

Xander nodded, feeling a bit odd and out of his league. "Want me to go get some donuts?"

"It'd be nice, for the others," Buffy considered. Dawn dozed on the couch, and Angel was somewhere reclusive, but the rest of the gang was relatively awake, due to various degrees of anxiety that rivaled Buffy's own.

"They call me Captain Creampuff," Xander said, jingling his car keys briefly before stepping out the door to get a couple dozen sugary treats. It would be just the thing to perk up the troops after a long, hard night.

Buffy smiled lightly in his absence, but the smile dissipated as she came back to the seriousness of the situation, wondering if it was a bad decision to wait so long to save Galen. A thousand and one things could have happened by now, and half of them led to inescapable death.

"He's still alive," Willow said quietly, sneaking up behind Buffy.

The slayer looked doubtful, her face half lit with morning light, the other half thrown into shadow. "How can you be so sure?"

"I can still feel Spike," Willow answered. "So if he's still around, Galen can't be dead yet."

Across the room, Fred and Wesley sat down to a cup of coffee. Wesley tried to keep his as strong as possible, but Fred was loaded up with cream and sugar.

"Would you like some coffee with that?" Wesley questioned when Fred added another spoonful of sugar and stirred it in. She stopped and then grinned like a fool, laughing despite herself.

"I'm sorry. I guess I've got a bit of a sweet tooth," Fred apologized.

Wesley didn't comment on that, keeping his eyes on her coffee mug. "By now, I'll bet it's nearly as sweet as you are."

Fred looked stunned and then smiled, charmed. Suddenly she frowned altogether. "Now, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, don't you dare go laying any compliments on me now. You'll have plenty of time afterwards to play your cards right."

It was his turn to look slightly shocked. "…And stop this lovely charade?"

She smiled graciously now, taking mercy with his affections. "Well, you can't rightly say if I'm sweet or not if you ain't never been in the position to know."

"I have to be dead," Wesley murmured to himself in his shock, but so lightly that Fred did not hear a word. "But, then, I couldn't be, because this would most certainly be heaven."

Fred shivered loudly across from him, oblivious to his plight or perhaps only pretending. "Gosh, just think… all of this preparing. Spells and weapons up to our ears. This all reminds me of a crusade."

"Hopefully we'll have a better success rate," Wesley said dryly.

Only an hour later, Xander returned, and they had a small breakfast feast. As the day lengthened, Angel woke up, only to sit down with Gunn and help him sharpen all of the axes and swords. Gunn had already been sharpening since dawn, but they both spent another hour scraping various blades to lethal edges.

"Boys!" Fred finally said to them, when she felt it had gone on long enough. "Any sharper and ya'll be splitting atoms."

Angel glanced at Gunn and set down his tools, wordlessly agreeing with her as he stood up. He wanted to avoid his unspoken role as a leader in this deal, but it was an obligation to help Buffy. He considered Buffy to be the commander, but his friends preferred to listen to him. "Do we have floor plans?"

"We do," Fred confirmed. "Looks like there are quite a few floors below ground level, but overall, it's not a big of place as we imagined."

Buffy crossed around to join the small gathering. "Isn't it?"

"Nope. There's a lab in the basement… a very spacious, nice lab… but then there's a basement-basement, probably for storage and random nasty bits."

"Alien babies in jars of formaldehyde," Xander threw in.

"Underneath the storage level, there's another level. Looks a little sophisticated. There are lots of small rooms, like a medical setup."

"Wonderful," Buffy said dryly.

Fred looked concerned. "I don't see anything in here that resembles a pit or would seem like it was explicitly underground."

"They probably have quite a few things that aren't in the blue prints," Wesley suggested.

"Well, that is true," Fred agreed. "Because according to the blueprints, there is no way to reach that level."

"It's sealed?" Buffy scrunched her nose wonderingly.

"No," Fred shook her head, flipping a sheet of paper. "I was looking at the layout more closely… there are some rooms in the storage level that are unaccounted for. Nondescript closet-like areas."

"Elevators, maybe," Angel suggested.

"I'm betting that's your ticket," Fred said.

"Let me see that," Buffy requested, taking the prints to memorize a path to the bottom levels. "Does this print have everything?"

"Only what they were willing to let a potential hacker see," Willow answered.

"But it has enough," Fred added.

"It has the CEO office," Buffy said. "But, Fred… I think that there doesn't seem to be a way to the lowest level from the storage area, because there isn't. Or, at least, you can't get there from… _there_."

Angel reached over to see the prints. "What do you mean?"

"It is an elevator shaft," Buffy said. "We could start near the top floor. It's a better shot than trying to get down a flight of stairs to the bottom floor. But I'm not sure it would be that simple."

"No, of course it wouldn't be," Wesley agreed with a sigh. "That looks like it's the private elevator. You'll need to go through the CEO office to get to it, and you'll probably need a pass code from someone with authority to reach those sublevels." He paused to take a breath. "I told you it has elevators going straight to hell."

"I don't see how that's a problem," Angel said.

Buffy was more than agreeable. "We'll just have to take Lilah as a prisoner."

As the same time, the front door swung open, and a leather-clad woman walked in, followed, after a moment, by Cordelia.

Faith walked into the center of the room, thumbs hooked into the belt-loops of her pants, a wicked smile on her face.

"Don't start all the fun without me, B."

* * *

**A/N: ****THANK YOU to everyone who voted for me!**

**Wish me luck! You've all been really awesome.**

**Chapter 23 is at a want for existing right now, but it WILL be coming as soon possible. Thanks for all your support! xx**


	23. Made To Be Broken

**A/N: I spent the last ten days writing this very long chapter just for my faithful readers, despite a crushing lack of win at SunnyD awards (thanks to everyone who voted, nonetheless) so some lengthy reviews would be much appreciated. There will be lots to comment on, so don't even think about avoiding it.**

**This chapter is going through the entire siege on Wolfram and Hart.**

**I know most of you get wildly excited when a new chapter comes up, so I'm telling you right now:  
Warnings for violence, murder, and massive character death.**

**I'm sorry, but it had to be done.**

**-Guardian  
xx**

* * *

_"Death is no more than passing from one room into another.  
__But there's a difference for me, you know.  
__Because in that other room I shall be able to see." – Helen Keller_

* * *

"You realize that sounds crazy, right?" Faith asked, half laughingly, leaning against the side of the couch.

"What's crazy is that Buffy decided to call you," Dawn grumbled.

"Chill, munchkin. Didn't we get along well enough back in Sunnydale?"

"Except for the part where you took Robin's cash and skipped town," Dawn recalled.

The brunette slayer stood upright, holding up her hands in a show of surrender. "Look, I had my own problems to deal with. The guy had revenge issues – I don't need to justify myself to you. I'm here to help. You should be thankful. So, you've got a zombie problem?"

Buffy sighed. "If you try to shoot Spike in the head, or hack him into pieces, or if you even bruise him, I'm going to kill you very slowly and very painfully."

"Alright, paws off the man," Faith said. "So what the hell am I here for?"

"Just to help us get inside the building and get him out," Angel said. "They'll have a lot of reinforcements ready, but you have the strength and experience to handle that."

"Did you grab it?" Buffy asked her.

Faith stared at her and then very reluctantly picked up her duffle bag, unzipping it and drawing out the red and silver scythe. Even more reluctantly, she handed it to Buffy, feeling a bit of a loss as the power passed on to her counterpart.

"I missed this," Buffy sighed wistfully, stroking the curve of the blade, on the flat edge.

"Well, tough cookies," Faith spat out. "You gave up slayer life, remember?"

"I remember," Buffy nodded. "That's why you're keeping this," she said, handing the scythe back. "You'll need it."

The brunette was stunned. "You're shitting me."

"No. I'm really trusting you, Faith," Buffy said sternly. "You're right, the slayer path isn't mine to walk anymore. I chose to walk away from it."

"You just want your man back," Faith summarized.

"Yeah."

"And somehow… these lawyers brought him back from the dead and made him human?" Faith asked. "And they made him blind, gave him Alzheimer's, broke his kneecaps, cut off his ears, and poisoned him?"

Buffy closed her eyes for a second. "I'm not asking you to understand it. Just have a little faith, alright?"

"Funny," Faith said dryly.

"I thought so," Buffy replied cheekily, and then let herself grow serious again. "We're taking him back at sunset."

"That's only two hours away," Faith said.

"So you'd better chose your weapon," Buffy replied.

Faith gave her a pointed look, shifting the scythe in her hands.

"Nice choice," Buffy said. "You'll be with Kennedy and Gunn on this one. Your goal is to kill as many bad guys as possible, and protect Willow and Giles, as well as Wesley and Fred. Willow and Giles will be the ones who clear a path for Angel and I, but after that they might not be so easily held back."

"What are we going to be fighting, exactly?" Faith questioned.

"Soldiers, most likely," Wesley said. "But let's just say you might be able to fight some zombies after all."

"Fucking right, man," Faith grinned gleefully. "Let me at 'em."

"Still have two hours to go, girl," Gunn reminded her.

"That's cool," Faith shrugged, and then rolled her shoulders to loosen them up. "I'll fight you for practice in the meantime, if you're not too chicken."

"Who're you calling chicken?" Gunn replied, rising to the challenge.

"Maybe you're not, but you're still gonna be crying like a little girl when I whoop your ass," Faith smirked, carefully setting the scythe down in a safe place.

"Bring it on, woman," Gunn retorted, showing her to the back room where there were training mats.

"Two hours to go," Xander repeated, feeling a little jittery. "Is Willow going to be super-charged enough by then?"

"The coven is being extremely cooperative," Wesley said. "They seem to regard her as an ascended being."

"That's only suiting," Buffy stated, feeling proud for her best friend.

"Can we go over the plan again?" Fred asked, feeling ever more nervous as the moment of truth approached. "For clarification of everyone's roles."

"I'd feel better about doing that when Faith and Gunn come back," Buffy replied hesitatingly, incredibly wary as the front door opened again.

Eamon entered the lobby, looking once at the faces and then more at the various weapons laying around. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"You kind of are," Buffy answered in reaction to his light sarcasm, closing her mouth when Eamon looked at her.

"Where's Galen?" Eamon asked, distrusting now. "It's a bit dangerous to have sharp bits around a blind man."

"Galen is gone," Buffy stated.

"What…?" Eamon's thoughts flitted to the dark possibilities of suicide. "What do you mean by that?"

"He wasn't at the address you gave us," Buffy explained. "No one you mentioned was."

"But it was the right address," Eamon said angrily.

"Then he was taken," Buffy replied, equally angry.

"You don't have to worry about anything. We're going to get him back," Angel cut in, trying to smooth things out.

"Was Rachel there?" Eamon asked, puzzled.

"No," Buffy said. "Neither was Mary."

"What about Addison?"

"I don't know," Buffy said. "Look, we're going to get him back. Why don't you give me your home phone number and I'll personally call you when we find him?"

"They might have put him back in the psych ward," Eamon said apprehensively.

"Maybe," Buffy said, because it was a good alternative to where they knew Galen actually was. "We're going to get him back, either way."

"My number is 555-4321," Eamon told her. "Promise you'll call as soon as you hear anything."

Cordelia dutifully took note of the number, like a good secretary. "Got it."

"I promise," Buffy told Eamon.

Eamon looked again at the weapons, then started to back off and turn away. These people had to be crazy. He had no idea what they thought what they were going to do, but it was plain that they would never have the common sense to find Galen. They couldn't begin to understand the life of an inpatient like he did, and how doctors loved to screw people over sometimes. He'd have to find Galen on his own.

* * *

So much flesh, and so little left. It clung to his hips like tattered shreds of fabric. He skinned his knees and it burned, but he barely felt such tremendous damage that had peeled off near but all of his skin. Dirt crawled like leeches through the wounds, but then it all burned. He hissed in pain.

…The fangs were sharp, the hair longer, a stench of a few days without bathing, and the acrid smell of freshly spilled blood…

His hips. His hips were ugly and shredded apart. He didn't want to look at them anymore, or the shameful slashes above the knee. Fresh red.

_He tries to corrupt_.

…Night so black, and a cooling pool of gleaming red on the floor. A boot on the back of his neck, but he almost willingly drags his tongue over the smooth wooden floor, sweeping up every drop of a bitter fluid…

The last image makes him shudder inside. His head is flooding with the strange images, full of grotesque tortures. Tortures that he sometimes partakes in.

There's fresh red on his arms. He didn't do it, by razor, nor knife, nor sword, nor penknife, nor scissors, nor glass, but he did it! By God, he'd done it of his own device. Through what means, he didn't remember, but it was true.

…The vertebrae snapped like twigs, and he'd never seen anyone drop like that before…

He closed his eyes tightly, but it didn't make a difference. Open, shut, it was all the same. He saw everything in the nothingness. He didn't need sight when he had such an imagination.

His hips were ruined, with grated-off skin, and he would never look at them again. He liked her hips so much better, as it were. He'd never seen them, but he knew them. He could imagine them, like some faded figment of his barely-there memories. Her hips were wider, and soft, which was good for holding. The only thing sweeter than such pale, unblemished skin was the curve that took shape from the bone of her hip to her tender stomach. The thought of such a woman made him quiver with want to want her. She had such sweet thighs that he could kiss, if he only knew how.

_He raped them all_.

…The screaming still rings off the walls and in his ears with a phantom lingering. He's not allowed to leave the room. He's cursed to hell for this, and bound to be blamed for it, just so he can be taught. If this is knowledge, then he wishes he wouldn't have it. He hates the act, hates the way they won't quit, and the crying keeps him from pretending it's anything else. But there's a porcelain hand on his thigh, and a bitterly sweet voice in his ear, and the whispers of nonsense seem to be exactly for the purposes of helping him pretend to forget…

There was something that was said, about lying between a woman's thighs. Now he knew, he couldn't imagine anything nicer than that. If it weren't for his weak, damaged body … if he could somehow not exist without ceasing to exist, he would want to spend a good deal of time there. Not that anyone should want to allow such a thing, after all that he'd witnessed. But he'd never repeat what he knew. He could never bear to touch a woman that way, but it made him scared to touch.

_They won't quit. He's cursed to hell for this_.

…Likes the way the liquid makes the skin bubble. Watches it burn like acid, because there's too much hate and dead soul to let any mercy live inside…

He wants to block out everything, but it won't quit. There was… is nothing more beautiful to him than the female body. Continuously sees it raped and ripped apart in front of him. Why would he sin so badly? He would-

…Pieces on the floor…

- never touch to bring harm! He could spend an eternity with such a beautiful creature. Laying quiet, playing dead. Pretending not to know such things. If he could only…. If he could only…. No breath would be necessary if he could be so blessed. _They won't bother with you._

_He has to be killed._

…All of the glue in the world won't hold together what the wolf tore to bits…

She's so warm. Still so warm. There's something wrong. _Why can't she be real_?

_Without any delay._

There they all lay, with the sightless eyes, glossed over like the freshly killed doe. Blood doesn't even taint most, but it lingers like invisible fingerprints making everything so dirty to touch. And He says, There, boyo. A woman you won't have to worry about satisfyin'. There's nothing there. _Nothing_. And he doesn't want it this way, and He _knows_ it. Revels in mocking him in such perverse ways. Revels in how he startles when he's shoved towards their naked bodies. Take his pick. They're all ripe for the taking. He can't, and he would never be able to bear it. He only vomits once this time, and the sickness doesn't stick with him. Doesn't care if he's beaten later for showing such a weakness. It's enough of a punishment knowing that his weakness cost these women their lives, just so Angelus could mock his love for them.

He can't handle this kind of abuse anymore, but it's their deaths that wound him the most. He can't be weak anymore.

* * *

"Are you a relative?"

"Yes," Eamon responded, knowing fully well that they would refuse him visitation if he told the truth. "She's my cousin, but she's like a sister to me."

All he received was a passive look. "Sign in."

Eamon took the pen and clipboard and scrawled a vaguely legible signature and sign-in time.

"You'll probably find her in the rec room," the nurse offered indistinctly. He thanked her just as sincerely and started down the hallway, looking over the bleak colors and weak attempts to cover it all up with some cheery pictures. He liked jail better, actually, but then he had to consider that his had been a short stay. It was far better to spend a week in jail and take rehabilitation for a drinking problem than it would be to spend a week or more here as an inpatient. He'd never be able to stand it.

The rec room was nearby, a place for people to lounge around watching telly, playing cards, board games, or going to town with a coloring book. It was connected to a small, sorry excuse for a kitchen, where some guy was grabbing a soggy hospital dessert. He paused to stare appreciatively at the only attractive thing he'd seen since entering the building. The guy peeled off the plastic wrap and took a single taste test, licking his spoon clean. _Nice_. Mr. Spoon Licker walked away, allowing Eamon to complete his assessment from the backside. He was a fine specimen from any angle. Now, if he could get a guy like that home with him, he'd never want to have anything else for dessert ever again. Unless it was some kind of foreplay involving whipped cream.

"Cool your jets, Eamon. He's straight."

Eamon turned his attention towards the rec room, spotting Rachel at the card table. He walked towards her, almost reluctantly now.

"I thought Galen was supposed to be your boyfriend," Rachel murmured, shuffling cards. The deck looked wildly incomplete; it was at least half the size it was supposed to be.

"Is he here?" Eamon questioned.

"Not that I've seen," Rachel answered, keeping her eyes on the cards. "You look nice in your real-world clothes."

"Thank you, Satan," Eamon huffed, but pulled out a cold metal folding chair and sat down. "Galen is missing. Do you know what happened?"

"Maybe he slashed his throat with one of your razors that you left behind," Rachel suggested cynically.

"I never brought any razors," Eamon answered plainly, understanding her nonetheless. "Was he that upset when I left?"

"I don't know," Rachel replied, while she shook her head 'no.' "He went to his room and it was quiet for a long time after that."

"So you don't know what happened?" Eamon questioned, blatantly skeptical. "Out of the blue, G is gone and you're back in the nut house?"

"Of course I know. I wish I _didn't_ know," Rachel snapped in reply.

Eamon straightened up at the revelation and then leaned in for confidentiality. "Help me figure out where he's gone."

"Help me figure out where _I've_ gone."

Eamon stared at her for a long moment, unable to tear away from her piercing eyes. She had so much fire, so much hate and lust and passion that no washed-out hospital clothes or number of pills could water down. He suspected that somewhere underneath Satan's exterior there was one hell of a woman that fully deserved to lead a slightly healthier and far more successful life.

"Rach, I can't do that. I can only offer you what little I know."

"And that's how it is," Rachel said pointedly, standing up. Eamon followed suit when she walked around the edge of the table. He was a little off his game in the realm of crazy, partly because he wanted to believe he didn't belong there. "I want to show you what I made in Crafts," she said in a voice that was somehow much more innocent. She brushed her hair back behind her ears and then dutifully led Eamon out of the rec room, eyes down at the tiles on the floor, almost mindlessly. Eamon followed her as she seemed to drift down a short corridor that turned off at the end of the hall and entered a private room.

As soon as Rachel entered the room, she was all business again, shutting the door quietly and securely behind Eamon when he entered the room. It smelled vaguely of plastic and hospital clothes, a unique scent that could only be found in such an environment.

"We can talk better in here," Rachel explained simply.

"Something tells me the nurses wouldn't like me back here," Eamon said, not wanting to care but he didn't want to be thrown out for good.

"Yeah, and what're they gonna do?" Rachel snorted, plopping onto the bed. "Scold you? They didn't even catch me and Scotty going at it in here." She paused for a reaction and then quirked an eyebrow. "Scotty was the one you were mentally fucking five minutes ago. _I_ was literally fucking him twelve hours ago."

"You couldn't have been here for more than two days," Eamon said, thoroughly disgusted and a little irked.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Take what I get and move on. You want to know about Galen, we need to stay on topic."

"What happened?"

"About one in the morning some assholes smashed in the front door," Rachel said. "Then they smashed in all of our doors. There must have been six or eight of them. Maybe a dozen. I don't remember exactly."

Eamon frowned, thoroughly confused because it was beginning to sound like it wasn't even related to potential gang violence. "Do you know who they were?"

"Nazis," Rachel answered seriously. "Or ninjas. Nazis dressed like ninjas, maybe. Americanized Nazi ninjas, though, because they didn't have any pansy swords. They were carrying semi-automatics or something like that. No, I shouldn't say 'Americanized', because Germany's the one with the Nazis. They were Germanated."

Eamon sighed under his breath, wondering where Rachel picked up her ridiculous beliefs about Nazis. "So the Nazi-ninjas were the ones who took Galen?"

"Like I said, they busted in our doors. They dragged us all out, and Galen fought maybe the worst. Actually, I don't think they were ninjas at all, because ninjas would be more skillful. These guys were pretty sloppy. They should have shot us all dead. Maybe it would have been too much of a mess. I wish they had blown my brains out, because then I wouldn't have gotten such a killer headache or woken up in this shithole. I blacked out for maybe a few seconds, and then Couver was on the floor… and then Galen was on the floor. I think they drugged him. I think they drugged me too because it was hard as hell to focus. That's how they took him."

"But they took him alive," Eamon said, feeling sick to his stomach by this information.

"Nazis prefer their test subjects live," Rachel replied matter-of-factly. "I woke up here. They told me I had a psychotic episode and started attacking people. They said I probably didn't remember a thing, and I went with that. But I remember everything. Mostly everything."

He understood her logic, even if he sometimes found no logic in it. "Was Addison there?" Eamon wondered.

"Yeah," Rachel nodded. "He was up… mm… we were in my room, anyway. He started beating the hell out of one of them and they damn near bashed his head in."

Eamon sighed softly, not missing the little hint that she had screwed Addison. "And you're sure that a group of Nazis did this?"

"Not just a _group_ of Nazis. _The_ Nazis," Rachel stressed. She sighed impatiently. "I don't know about getting Galen back, but if you want to do anything good, you should go rescue Couver from the pound before they put him down."

* * *

"Hurry," Willow urged, leaning forward again.

"Hey!" Xander yelled. "Sit down, you backseat witch! And don't even _think_ about going all puppet master on me, or I swear I'm gonna – well, I'll start telling the yellow crayon story again."

"Please don't," Dawn pleaded from the passenger seat.

Giles reached out and pulled Willow back, given a sort of evil glare. It was definitely intimidating, but Willow was clearly still intact. "Sorry," he shrugged.

"We're close," Fred reported, looking out the window.

"Ready your weapons," Dawn said, shivering as she heard guns cock and Willow start chanting in Latin under her breath. The Wolfram and Hart building was right next to them now, and Xander put on the brakes. "Now!" Dawn barked, turning in her seat to watch. They'd already been on pins and needles and had the doors open by the time the car actually stopped.

Fred and Wesley exited first, from their side, both holding pistols in each hand. They slowly walked across the pale white cement that led to a series of stairs, which in turn led to the front entrance.

Giles wasn't far behind, keeping a few paces ahead of Willow with a roll under his arm. The redhead's hair was beginning to whiten to a strawberry blonde color as she walked, chanting Latin under her breath, completely ignoring her surroundings.

In the convertible, Angel pulled up behind Xander's car with a screech of tires that made Kennedy curse him. Buffy stood up in her seat, watching the proceedings. "Everyone get ready, but hold your ground. We charge on my word."

"This is a beautiful plan, B," Faith muttered. And by beautiful, she meant stupid. She stood up as well, because Buffy wasn't the only one with awesome slayer balance.

The trickle of lawyers entering and exiting the building didn't stop. They were selectively oblivious until Wesley and Fred ascended the first tier of steps and they realized the two were carrying weapons.

"What the hell is going on here?" one lawyer stopped to demand, eyes flicking from Wesley and Fred to Willow, who was so charged by now that it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "You're not –"

Wesley shot the man in the legs without further hesitation, and the lawyer fell to the ground, screaming. Immediately, more employees scattered with a few shrieks and ran back into the building. They were just people, for the most part, Wesley knew, but he didn't feel the least bit of remorse for wounding them. It was their choice to work for a corporate evil, and things like this were bound to happen. Besides, they probably had a wicked health care plan.

Giles rushed up the first tier of steps, and flung the roll he was carrying over the white cement, letting it splay out. On the red fabric, there was a black pentagram drawn in heavy paint. Important herbs to aid the spell casting were already ground into the fabric. They weren't sure if it would work, but as charged as Willow was at the moment, he suspected she could make do with a pentacle drawn on a piece of toilet paper.

He cleared out of the way immediately and Willow stepped into the circle, releasing a sigh that exuded magical energy. There was another gunshot as Fred dropped a demonic employee who had decided to fight. There were more than that who followed suit – vampires, half-demons, and miscellaneous evil beings, which included stupid humans. The shots increased as they picked off the attackers, but a few of the obviously demonic employees had to be shot in the head to make them stop.

Buffy held her breath as Willow started to take on a glow. When the radiance began to intensify, she grabbed her ax. "Now!" she barked, leaping out of the car. Angel followed suit effortlessly, as did Faith, not to be outdone. Kennedy and Gunn both grunted briefly when they hit the ground, following only a few paces behind Buffy.

Willow's glow was steadily intensifying while she tried to pace herself to keep from going over the edge. She was still a bit fearful, but this time the magic didn't feel dark, or like spiders crawling under her skin. It felt like a warm, healing light, melting away everything bad and replacing it with something soothing and good. As the power filled her, however, it sort of felt like she was drowning, so she desperately held back.

"Baby." Willow heard a voice behind her and gasped for breath when she felt a hand slide into hers. "You can do it."

Pure whiteness enveloped Willow and spread outwards like an explosion. A loud shattering noise filled the air as every window in the building exploded, showering shards of glass onto the ground. The others shielded their eyes from Willow's radiance until the light faded enough so they could see her again. Her hair had turned pure white, and she held out her arms as if pushing against a tremendous force. Like a ripple of water, the air behind the blast cleared, but the outmost ring remained. It slowed down to a stop and solidified, creating a safe gateway into the building.

"Move," Buffy said, walking forward and then beginning to run. "Now!"

They charged forward, towards the main entrance, jumping through an empty frame that used to be a glass door. The force field covered more than half of the lobby, but a few employees had become stuck on the outer side. A vampire wanted to play rough, but Faith lifted her scythe and quickly dispatched him, adrenaline beginning to flow with the first kill. One down, and the night was still young.

"Slayer junior," Faith barked, calling in her troops. "Charlie Brown. Spread out up front." She waited until Kennedy and Gunn stood on both sides of her, positioned at the border of the force field. Three demons stared back at them, waiting for the chance to die, apparently. "On my mark. One… Two…NOW!" Faith screamed and lunged through the shield, hacking her opponent nearly in half with a mighty swing and moving on.

Buffy and Angel waited within the safe area, watching the others fight. Gunn was the only one who had more trouble, compared to two slayers, but he more than held his own and they helped each other out when it was necessary. It was five minutes into the fighting when a lot of soldiers in black came out, carrying arms. Faith was in rampage mode by now, and found no problem in ripping away a soldier's weapon and using it to beat him unconscious.

Buffy and Angel came out, making their way to the stairs. The blonde dropped her ax in favor of punching a solider in the face. They reminded her of the Initiative and all of the soldiers that had been deployed to get Spike back into a lab. She hadn't cared much back then, although it had unsettled her, but now the parallel of the circumstances was horrifying. She dealt with it by wrenching the soldier's weapon out of his hands and breaking his nose with it.

Angel was facing another soldier of his own, pulling the man's gun away fairly easy, as he held the soldier up in the air by his throat. When he had the weapon, he flung the soldier across the room and raised the gun. He let off a round at waist level, nailing a lot of the soldiers in the leg and decreasing the number of threats.

"What gives, yo?!" Faith shouted at him. "You could've bust one of us up with that shit."

Angel gave her a withering look and dropped the gun while Buffy picked up her ax. The path was clear for the moment and they ran for the stairs, charging up them as soon as they hit the first step. It was the fastest Buffy had seen Angel move in a long time.

The hallway was clear when they reached the second floor, as a few employees quickly scampered away to hide. They made a direct path down the hall, towards the CEO office, from what Fred's blueprints had shown them. There they would be able to access the private elevator that could to take them down to the lowest chambers of Wolfram and Hart.

They reached the massive wooden door, which was locked, and stopped on either side of the door. They glanced at each other for silent confirmation while they readied their weapons. Buffy nodded her consent, taking a defensive pose while Angel backed up a few paces.

The door cracked and flew open on impact as Angel's force on the door broke the lock. They burst into the room, ready to start slaying, and at the same time, a dozen weapons cocked, ready to fire.

"Hello, Angel," an elderly gentleman in a sharp business suit said, casually checking his watch. "It took you long enough to get here. Although, I didn't expect you to destroy the front of my building. Pity I won't be able to send you the bill."

"Linwood," Angel growled.

"You look surprised," Lilah smiled, satisfied with herself as her victory was close at hand. "We were expecting this for a while. Why do you think there are soldiers here instead of employees? Did you really think it would be this easy?"

"No," Buffy replied with a sly smile. "But I'd do anything to keep Spike out of your hands."

"I'd expect more from a slayer," Lilah scoffed. "You've come all this way to save a man who's already long dead."

"You're lying," Buffy stated, gritting her teeth together to keep doubts at bay.

"Now the reinforcements are really arriving downstairs," Lilah continued, as if she could envision it, while keeping a serpentine stare on Buffy. "All of your pathetic little friends are already dying."

"No one is dying today," Buffy ground out firmly.

"I'd like to challenge that statement," Linwood said, lifting his hand and signaling the attack. Buffy and Angel reacted quickly, wiping out as many soldiers as possible before they could pull the trigger. Buffy maneuvered a spin-kick, knocking down as many of the soldiers as possible. She jabbed another one in the neck with the wooden handle of her ax, hard, so that he collapsed onto the floor, and slashed another in the chest. Angel moved to the closest group of soldiers and plowed into them with his shoulder, lashing out with his weapon in one smooth motion and knocking many off their feet, wounding others. All of that only took a second, and in the next, several wild shots fired off into the air.

Buffy froze as excruciating pain pierced through her leg, nearly causing her to fall. When she looked down, as if in slow motion, she saw blood beginning to seep through her tan pants.

Fear and outrage gripped Angel at once as he saw Buffy's wound. The rage settled in, pushing out the fear. They had hurt something that he still considered his, had abducted his childe for their own sick purposes, and then put him down like a dog. Angel held up his weapon with sure confidence, and went towards Linwood, not met by any form of resistance. He drew back swung the metal blade into the man's neck, feeling the muscle tear, the arteries burst, and bones crack.

He didn't feel an inch of remorse.

* * *

"I think those people are calling the cops," Dawn said anxiously, watching a pair of people who stood on the sidewalk, far away from where Wesley and Fred had cut down a dozen people with selectively fired bullets.

"That's no gonna happen, kiddo," Xander said, unconcerned. "Thanks to Cordy, phone lines are gonna be scrambled for a while."

"What's taking them so long?" Dawn wondered. It felt like an eternity since the others had charged in, and she wondered how close they were to being done.

"They have to get through the place and find Spike," Xander said. "And from what I understand, it's a big, evil place. It might take a while."

"Shouldn't we go back up Buffy and Angel, then?" Dawn asked. "They're going to be in there alone."

"They're the most capable ones here," Xander said soothingly.

"And we're not," Dawn added bitterly, in a dull voice that was full of resign. "We're the most useless people here."

"We do the dirty work, Dawn," Xander tried to explain, even though it didn't make much sense.

"You're right. …I can't sit here," Dawn stressed, pulling the latch on the door and leaving the car.

"Dawn!" Xander yelled after her. "Dawn! Buffy's gonna _kill_ me!"

She walked away rapidly, ignoring him, and ran up the stairs.

"Oh hell, oh hell…" Xander muttered, rummaging for his cell phone to warn Buffy when he remembered that the phone lines were fried.

"Dawn!" Fred scolded, noticing Dawn's approach. "What are you doing up here? You're supposed to be waiting in the car!"

Dawn didn't give Fred any eye contact, walking by quickly instead. "I can't just sit by."

"Stop!" Fred cried out as Dawn approached the entrance to the building. "You don't want to do that!"

"Dawn!" Wesley shouted as well, pursuing her as she approached the broken front door and stepped inside. "Once you penetrate the force field, you can't come back!"

"Good, then no one can follow me!" Dawn shouted in reply, although she doubted that he heard her at all over the fighting. Faith was in some sort of primal killing mode, Kennedy looked a little wounded, and Gunn was getting out of breath, but the number of soldiers had dwindled down and bodies had increased. She stepped through quickly, feeling the force field part around her with a strange pressure, and then sort of eject her when she came out the other side.

The others were too wrapped up in the fighting to really notice her, and she dodged the fray, making her way to the staircase.

Faith grabbed one of the soldiers and slammed his head against the floor to knock him out cold. Only a meager number of soldiers were left, even after the second wave of troops had tried to overpower them, but the ones still standing were more crafty than the ones dead, immobile, or unconscious on the floor. They focused on the ones who were still attacking, not even noticing the ones who were conscious but unable to stand. It seemed so insignificant to pull out a little pin, but when the grenade was sent rolling, that was another thing altogether, and it changed everything.

Kennedy swung out and smashed a commander's nose so that blood started gushing down his face. She was ready to start working on giving him a gap-toothed smile when Faith leapt at her and pushed her down, hard. Within half a second, an explosion went off, sending debris flying and deafening their ears with the blast. Plaster fell from the ceiling above and dust filled the air.

She could felt her heart pounding in her throat. A terrible screaming welled up, and Faith looked around behind her, seeing many enemy soldiers bleeding to death from shrapnel. The screaming wasn't coming there however. As if in a daze, Faith turned back, dizzily realizing that Kennedy was the one writhing on the floor in agony. She kept her hands clenched hard against her upper thigh, while blood began to leak through around the area. When Faith tried to see how bad the damage was, the slayer yelled again in pain.

"_Don't_ _touch_ _me_! Don't—Don't touch—" Kennedy gasped, mewling helplessly when Faith stubbornly grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. Faith wisely flung Kennedy's arm over her shoulder so she could support the other girl's weight.

Gunn coughed and rushed over, trying to visually assess Kennedy's wounds. Through the force field they could see Wesley and Fred, who had run up towards them, looking in with much concern.

"Open the gate!" Gunn shouted back towards them, offhandedly hoping that sound waves would go through the shield.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna get you out of here," Faith promised, half carrying Kennedy towards the force field. The energy dissipated quickly, like a switch had been thrown. With Gunn's assistance to assure that Kennedy would be okay, they carried her out of the building.

"Kennedy," Willow called out fearfully, running to her lover.

"We need to get her to a hospital, Red," Faith said, somewhat thrown by the sudden severity of the situation and the fact that Willow's hair was snow white at the moment, not red.

"No," Willow said firmly. "Put her down."

"She has shrapnel," Gunn began.

"I can fix that," Willow said, more concerned about Kennedy as they gingerly laid her on the ground.

"No, baby, don't push yourself," Kennedy protested in a very small voice. Willow looked like an angel, leaning over her with tears shimmering in her eyes.

"This'll be easy-peasy," Willow promised, her throat tightening. She couldn't go on speaking, so she just held Kennedy's hand. Tears fell from her eyes while she tried to endure the screaming, willing pieces of twisted metal to work themselves free from Kennedy's leg.

"Dawn," Fred gasped as she finally ran back to the others. She had searched the inside of the building, but hadn't seen Dawn anywhere. Gunshots sounded behind her, as Wesley began picking off wounded soldiers. "Dawn was inside."

Faith gave Fred a brief, confused look. "There wasn't anyone else inside."

"She went in there," Fred insisted.

Faith frowned, glancing at the building and back at Fred, who remained steadfast. "Alright. I'll go find her."

Fred nodded thankfully, and watched Faith head for the building.

Kennedy screamed again as a marble-sized hunk of contorted, razor-sharp metal rose through the layer of muscle in her thigh. She fell quiet when it came up near the surface, only whimpering softly as more flecks were disembedded from the first few layers of skin.

"It'll barely even leave a scar," Willow murmured promisingly, maintaining her focus to remove every little sliver of metal.

* * *

Lilah stared at Linwood's severed head for a moment, more shocked about Angel's action than the fact that her boss had just been decapitated.

"I guess it's true when they say heads will roll."

"I don't know how you can manage to have any humor in a time like this," Buffy panted, sickened by Lilah. Her minions had done a great job of protecting her after Linwood died, forcing Angel and Buffy to kill each soldier, except for a few that ran away.

"Please," Lilah scoffed, as if it were a regular occurrence in her job for everyone around her to die. It probably was. "You've done me a favor. He always was an ungrateful bastard."

"Since we've done you a favor, how about you do us a favor," Angel suggested, standing near the elevator.

"What?" she snorted now, and laughed. "The access code? I'm not that benevolent, sweetie."

Buffy curled her hands into fists, walking over to Lilah. When the brunette looked at her, she let loose a punch that knocked Lilah onto the ground, holding her face as she tried to chuckle.

"Maybe we can reason with you," Buffy said, cracking her knuckles.

"You're not dark enough for that," Lilah replied.

"No?" Buffy stood over Lilah and reached down, pulling her up by her collar. The extra weight on her leg only made Buffy grimace slightly, gritting her teeth instead. She cocked her fist back again and slammed her knuckles into Lilah's face at full strength. She felt Lilah's weight deaden as the punch knocked the woman out of her senses for a moment, and blood started to drip from her left nostril. "I could spend all night breaking your pretty face, but I have better things to do."

Lilah inhaled slowly through her mouth, trying to find her bearings. "You're nowhere near persuasive enough to make me talk," Lilah began and then choked when a fist slammed right into her nose, fracturing it, and sending a gush of blood down the back of her throat. She swallowed and coughed, unable to lean forward, and the blood kept dripping down her throat.

"I'm just warming up," Buffy said conversationally. "You may think that I avoid hurting humans, and you'd be right. But you're giving yourself too much credit, assuming that you should still be considered human."

"I am human," Lilah said defiantly, still gasping around her own blood. "I have the paperwork to prove it."

"You're evil," Buffy shook her head.

"But still human," Lilah chuckled. "You've got to be careful when you start blurring the lines like that. You'll end up just like me."

Buffy pulled her up closer, until they were face-to-face. "I'm not going to kill you," she smacked Lilah with a backhand that was almost as bad as a full-on punch. "But I have no trouble beating you within an inch of your miserable life," she smacked Lilah again, sending out a spurt of blood that lightly spattered her shirt and left little smears on her palm. "We haven't even gotten into the real fun yet," Buffy added, punching Lilah in the cheek and feeling the bone give slightly.

She let Lilah drop to the floor, staring down with disgust at the forming bruises on Lilah's face, and her bloody nose. Disgust for the vile woman below her and disgust for herself for bothering with the bitch. "This is nothing compared to what you did to Spike," Buffy said. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, even if you would deserve it. …Why did you go through so much trouble to bring Spike back as a human just to kill him again?"

"It was an experiment," Lilah said, laughing painfully at the end, because it hurt too much to smile. "I can tell it's worked."

Buffy frowned and smacked Lilah across the face again, with the sound of a whip cracking. "You don't get to talk anymore, unless it's the access code."

"It's going to be awfully silent in here, then," Lilah commented, despite herself. She screamed when Buffy picked up her hand and snapped her thumb back to her wrist.

"The access code," Buffy repeated, slowly twisting the broken finger around.

"I'll tell you!" Lilah blurted out, in a tone that begged Buffy to stop. It hardly mattered anyway, because the only person who really cared about the project had lost his head. Literally.

"Really," Buffy said dryly, grabbing Lilah's index finger. She changed her mind at the last second and grabbed her pinky instead, snapping the digit back and twisting.

"Four!" Lilah exclaimed, trying to get Buffy to stop. She trembled uncontrollably, part from the surprise of the attack.

Buffy tsked lightly. "Your job must have gotten too cushy, because it seems like you've developed a low pain tolerance."

Her ring finger broke with the sound of a dry stick, leaving her in tears. "Six!" she said resentfully, and shook when Buffy grabbed her middle finger. "I'm telling you the numbers!" she yelled at Buffy hatefully.

"I know," Buffy said, slowly bending the finger back until it broke and touched the back of Lilah's hand easily. The brunette cried very quietly for a while, hating her own tears for such a basic torture. "Two," she finally said dully. There was only one finger left to go, and she was ready for the pain.

"Got that so far, Angel?" Buffy asked.

He nodded, made silent by Buffy's actions.

"Tell me the last number right now, and I won't even have to break your last finger," Buffy said, pinching Lilah's index finger teasingly.

Bitterness made Lilah hesitate for a moment. "Zero." She gasped when Buffy broke the last finger, the slight increase of pain not much compared to what she was already feeling. "You _bitch_…."

"Never said I wouldn't _choose_ break it," Buffy stated, standing up to rid herself of the useless whore. "We have better places to go now."

"You're just wasting your time," Lilah spat out, sitting up. "But if you hurry, you might actually be lucky enough to find Spikey still alive. You might even be able to bang him before he pukes up all of his guts. Of course, you could do that even if he's already dead. It wouldn't be any different than before."

The anger welled up in Buffy like a suffocating haze and she fell on Lilah like a fury, attacking her in such a frenzy that the blows were often wasted. She savagely pounded on Lilah's chest until she felt something crack, and then had to stop as her good conscience tried to return. She knelt over the woman, panting, but when she looked at Lilah again, Buffy couldn't stand the sight of her and closed her hands around Lilah's throat to strangle her.

"Stop, Buffy!" Angel barked, pulling her up. Buffy thrashed wildly and started kicking Lilah hard in the chest before Angel fully pulled her away. He threw her away from Lilah, towards the elevator.

Buffy panted harshly, glaring at Lilah, who lay on the ground, just barely gasping for breath.

"Killing her won't solve anything," Angel told Buffy. She stared at Lilah, transfixed, while he collected their weapons and made sure she had hers. "Her peers will kill her for her failure here. I'm not letting you get her blood on your hands."

"I wouldn't have killed her," Buffy said, unfortunately knowing that it was true. Tears of hate shone in her eyes. "I meant what I said. No one is going to die today. But if Spike is dead, then I hope she chokes to death on her own tongue."

"In that case, I hope she lives," Angel murmured, pushing the buttons for the access code, and the elevator dinged. He gently pushed Buffy inside when the doors opened. "We need to finish this."

* * *

The elevator opened up in a blank hallway lit with greenish-white fluorescent lights. They stared down a corridor that quickly disappeared into dim darkness. About ten feet ahead it branched off to the right, into another corridor that seemed to be more brightly lit.

"Darkness or light?" Buffy asked, prompting their inevitable need to split up.

"I can see better in the dark," Angel stated logically, settling it. They held up their weapons and walked out of the elevator. Buffy turned off into the bright passageway and Angel kept walking into the darkness.

A half-burning light lit the way far ahead, and Angel followed a turn in the long hallway, finally coming to a strip where the lights were working again. Little rooms lined each side of the hallway, and he glanced at all of them as he walked by. He passed wooden doors at first, and then straight ahead he saw a chain link fence blocking his path. The hallway continued on past the fence to the right, slipping into darkness again, but Angel had a feeling that he didn't have to go that way. Beyond the fence, there were metal doors with narrow windows. He could hear creatures groaning, and a faint sound of electricity crackling.

"You don't have authorization to be here."

Angel whirled around, catching a soldier's gun in his hands and thrusting it up, cracking the man in her forehead and knocking him unconscious. Two more soldiers stood behind the fallen one, but they looked confused, as if they didn't know what they were going to do now. Angel looked down, and realized that he had taken down their commander. With a bit of uncertainty, himself, he tossed aside the gun.

"Your employer is dead," Angel told them, taking it as a good sign when they looked further uncomfortable. "What's behind these gates?"

"The experiments," a soldier replied dully, glancing down at the commander.

"Here's the deal," Angel said. "If you give me the keys, you can go ahead and drag your superior out of here. Leave the building, tell your other buddies to pack it up and go home."

They glanced at each other and one unfastened a set of keys from his belt, tossing them to Angel. The vampire deftly found a key that seemed like it would fit the lock on the gate, and kept an eye on them while trying the key. It failed to work, but the next one unlocked the door. The soldiers gathered up their commander and began dragging him away.

"One more thing," Angel added. "If you run into a blonde woman, tell her Angel let you go, or else she'll try to kill you."

They looked concerned. "Yes, sir," one responded, and then they dutifully continued to drag their commander off into the darkness.

Angel waited to make sure they were gone and then pushed the gate open and entered. The groans increased in volume when he passed, and a few growls rose as various species of demons detected his presence. He stopped at one door and looked inside, seeing a greenish demon with long, skeletal fingers huddled in the far corner of the room, where the light barely reached. It looked starved and tormented, stripped of even it's aggressive nature. The room was numbered 14 and when he looked at his keys, he found a corresponding number. A glance around the corridor seemed to show that he held all of the other keys as well. He could free all of the demons here, but he wasn't sure if he should. Some of the demons were undoubtedly victims, but he had no idea which ones would be murderous or were simply too far-gone to be saved.

He checked cells 15 and 16 as well, sickened by the last one, which only held the gruesome remains of whatever had been left to die inside. He was at the end of the corridor, but it turned again, to the left this time. More cells were ahead, with better lighting and a man in a lab coat. Angel figured that these cells held higher-priority test subjects than the others. The doctor noticed him as soon as he stepped forward, and backed up against a metal cart.

"GUARDS!" the man shouted as Angel approached, confirming the vampire's thought that the man had to be all alone.

"They're gone," Angel said. "And Linwood is dead."

"That is of little consequence to me," the man said stubbornly. "I still hold a contract with the senior partners."

"Just tell me where Spike is," Angel growled, stepping closer to the man. "That's all I want from you."

"I'm afraid that's against my contract," the man replied, lifting a scalpel from the metal tray behind him and stabbing Angel in the chest.

* * *

Buffy pressed herself against the wall, remaining silent as she listened to the soldiers talking. From where she was hiding, she could see across the hall where large, open doors revealed a dirt area littered with dozens of the insect-like demons they had run into a while ago at the Hyperion. It had to be the pit that Spike had mentioned, and the soldiers were inside, even though she couldn't see them from here.

"That bitch leaves us with all of the work."

"Address your superior with some respect," the other soldier barked, more loyal than the other. "You're nothing more than the scum on her shoes."

"I'm tired of picking up this bug shit!" the other soldier complained, suddenly stepping into the hallway with a large biohazard bag full of demon parts. Buffy ducked behind the wall again, and when she peeped out, he had gone back into the pit.

"If she told you to eat every last demon and lick the floor clean, you'd have to carry out that order as well, and I'd keep your face down in it until every last tainted bit of dirt was swallowed. You got that?"

"These little fucks are supposed to eat the captives, not the other way around," the soldier said angrily.

"Obviously you don't realize that this captive was celled with the fuckers, then," the loyal soldier scoffed, pleased to mock the other in any way possible. "We did that to a lot of the captives; tossing a few of the hungry sons of bitches into a cell and letting them have at it. A few of them lost their faces that way. Usually the captive managed to kill them, though. This one always did. Personally, I _prefer_ them dead." There was a small pause and then a loud shout of pain. "The fucker bit me!"

Buffy heard a sound that sounded like a spear going through whichever demon had bitten the soldier.

"Looks like he missed one."

"Shut up, maggot!"

The slayer moved away from her hiding spot and silently returned down the hallway she had come from. She'd heard enough to convince her that although Galen had been there, he wasn't there anymore.

She backtracked to the place where the elevator was, taking a moment to make sure she remembered the access code. Four-six-two-zero.

Her wounded leg pounded with pain as she started down into the darkness. She pushed the pain down into the bottom of her being, however, and used it as fuel to keep her going.

* * *

Angel stumbled backwards slightly, dropping his weapon, the scalpel stuck in his chest. He lifted his hand and pulled it out, watching a little blood squirt out from the wound and stain his clothing. The doctor breathed harshly, waiting with mixed fear and excitement to see if he had killed his first person.

"That really hurt," Angel commented, watching the man blanch and try to bolt. Angel caught him, and pulled the doctor back against his chest, locking his arm around him and holding the scalpel against the man's throat. "Now we do this the hard way. Where is Spike?"

"I-I don't recognize that name," the doctor stammered. "The subjects aren't given names."

"You must be mistaken, then," Angel said, glancing down at the man's nametag. "Dr. Grier. He was given a name. Galen."

"G-Galen," Grier stammered, nodding. "Yes, I treated him."

"Treated him?" Angel repeated, tightening his grip on the doctor.

"He was part of the inoculation project," Grier said quickly. "But Lilah wanted to take him a step further, to draw your attention. I suppose that worked," he chuckled. "They'll never let you out of here alive."

"What was the project?" Angel asked, pressing the scalpel into his neck, drawing blood.

"I honestly don't know," Grier responded. "I was only given the medications to distribute. Wolfram and Hart left him in my care, but of course the state somehow became entangled and made the entire thing very messy. I suspect that towards the end they just wanted to see how long he could suffer."

"They took him back," Angel said. "And he's here somewhere."

"Oh, yes," Grier nodded, quickly stopping when the scalpel jabbed against him.

"Show me," Angel ordered, pulling the scalpel back so the doctor could move.

"Right over here," the man answered, gesturing towards a cell marked number 34.

Angel walked the man over to the cell, quickly peering inside and just catching a glimpse of someone lying on a medical table. "Unlock the door."

Dr. Grier reached into his coat pocket and Angel heard the jingle of keys. He couldn't see inside from his current angle, but kept glancing at the door apprehensively as the doctor took his sweet time getting the lock. As soon as the door opened, Angel grabbed the man and smacked his head into the edge of the door, knocking him out cold and releasing a bright blossom of blood on his temple.

Angel let the man drop to the floor without a second thought, only kicking him away so he could fully open the door. He entered a cell that was full of some sort of medical equipment. His childe lay on a cold table, naked but for a barely modest white sheet. Most of his flesh was gone, and he was bleeding badly, although it looked like he had been cleaned up a while ago. A steady electronic pulse sounded through the room, but the fluorescent lights made his childe look dead. His eyes were taped open, pupils just barely visible at the top of his sockets, twitching in his unconsciousness. Wires and IVs were attached to his temples, chest, wrists, and fingers. Most concerning of all was a mass collection of wires that were connected to the base of his skull.

Angel took a deep breath, overcome with both concern and joy for finding his childe. He approached the table heedlessly, gingerly lifting his childe's hands one at a time and pulling off the wires stuck to his fingers and the needles that were stuck into his wrists. When his hands were free, Angel started pulling out the needles that had been pushed into certain muscles on his chest. He flinched only slightly when one of the needles caused a spasm as it was removed.

Continuing onward, Angel removed the wires taped to his childe's forehead. Angel winced then, in preparation, and carefully removed the tape from his childe's eyes, gently shutting the lids. He had to removed ther wires attached to his childe's neck, but they worried him the most. Angel leaned down to get a better look, and was further distressed to see that the wires ended in needles that had been pushed into the neck towards the brain stem and spinal cord. He tried not to think about the dangers of removing the wires. With blind faith, he chose a blue one and pulled it out carefully, alarmed as the electronic pulse became erratic and increased in tempo.

There wasn't any choice but to continue, even if he wanted to stop. Ever more tenderly, Angel chose a red wire, steadily sliding the needle out. Despite his efforts, the pulse became unsteadier. He held back a distressed sob and rose up to stroke his childe's hair and press a kiss against his temple.

"Come on," he whispered desperately. "We've survived two centuries, you and I. We've stopped apocalypses. We've gotten souls. We've been to hell and back. _We're_ _not_ _done_ _yet_. …You can't leave me yet."

There was no response, not even a twitch, and Angel took a strangled breath, unwilling to leave without his kin. He returned to the task at hand, where there were only two things left to pull. Several wires shared each massive needle, and Angel chose the one that looked slightly smaller. He steadied his hand and began to gently pull out the needle, but it was so firmly lodged through bone that he had to pull harder than he would have wished. As the end of the needle slid out, the pulse became more fluttery, making his stomach clench. He had to hold his breath and wait for his hands to stop shaking.

With a gentle hand, he cradled his childe's head to keep him steady, and pinched the last needle. He began sliding it out slowly, becoming ever more panicked as the pulse grew progressively worse. When the needle left, the pulse flat-lined completely, and he felt his entire being die with it.

"Don't," Angel begged, lifting up his childe's head as he held him, but realized that the words were already completely useless. He trembled as he began to gather up his childe's cold body, absently disconnecting the last few wires that were taped to him. Angel wrapped him up in the sheet as a crude attempt to keep him warm. He had to keep him warm, because he was so badly wounded… so injured that he seemed as if dead. He only seemed as if he were dead.

Angel held onto his childe tightly, adjusting the sheets to adequately cover him. If he knew anything about his childe, it was that he would hate being cold when he woke up. They'd survived two centuries, and come back from hell. He wasn't going to leave Angel yet. He couldn't. He still had a lot of years left to tease and torment his sire. Angel held him even tighter, as if he could make it true. He couldn't leave him.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his silence, and he listened as they grew closer.

"Angel?" Buffy's voice called out a moment before the slayer moved into the doorway. She looked breathless when she saw him. "You found him."

Buffy looked him over, holding Spike in his arms as if he were afraid to let him go. She understood the feeling. Spike was wrapped up in a bloody sheet, and blood and wires were left on the table where she guessed Angel had found him. "I have him," Angel said with a deadened and barely quivering voice, mindlessly cradling the back of his childe's bloody head.

* * *

Light gasping filled the room when she walked inside. A man's severed head lay on the floor, his body a good six feet away, with blood stained the pale carpet.

Dawn stared for only a moment, blinking slowly to try to rid herself of the image, but it would be printed forever on his mind, just like everything else.

She looked around the office again, surveying the dead soldiers before letting herself focus on the sole survivor in the room. A woman lay on the floor with brown hair splayed around her battered face. The blood was only just beginning to dry, and Dawn absently wondered which one had beaten her.

Lilah gasped small breaths of air, her eyes darting around to see who had entered the room. She choked slightly when Dawn stood over her, swallowing the saliva and blood to clear her passageways and taking another labored breath. "You're the slayer's sister," she whispered.

"And you're the Evil Stepmother," Dawn murmured in reply. "You're the one who hurt Spike."

"I was only following orders," Lilah said, through her pained breathing. She weakly jerked her head towards where Linwood's body had fallen. "He was the Wicked King, but now he's dead."

Dawn followed the gesture and closed her eyes again at the sight of the headless body. "That's not good enough," Dawn whispered, opening her eyes on Lilah again. "You were the one who made it all happen."

"So what," Lilah choked out, her breath hitching with apprehension. "You're going to follow in your sister's footsteps?"

"I'm nothing like my sister," Dawn's voice rose with insistence and anger.

"Sorry," Lilah said, unable to laugh, and swallowed painfully again. "You're right, kid."

"Buffy's always been the one with power," Dawn murmured. "And even though I could have destroyed the world, I'm nothing now. She's the one who's the hero. Everyone else gets to share in the glory. But me, I'm still in the shadows. Her shadow."

"You're better than her," Lilah told her. "You're not going to leave me here to die."

"No," Dawn agreed slowly. "I'm not."

The woman took another thankful breath, and Dawn knelt down beside her.

"Buffy beat you to hell," Dawn said, looking over Lilah's broken body and then at her face. "She _left_ _you_ here to die. I'm not like her at all," she shook her head slowly and reached out, clamping her hand tightly over Lilah's mouth and pinching her nose shut. "I never would've been so merciful."

Lilah tried to scream or shout, but her own weakness and Dawn's hand muffled her cries. She struggled, momentarily loosening Dawn's hand, but the girl pressed her free hand down onto her chest and clamped onto her more tightly, blocking out every bit of air. Her lungs began to burn, and it was harder to struggle.

"Did you really think I was going to help you?" Dawn asked quietly, as she watched Lilah's eyes plead with her and then glare, beginning to well up as her body ached for a breath. "The difference between me and Buffy is that, no matter how much she hates you… no matter how much you _should_ die, she won't do it. She's a good person. But _I'm_ not even a _person_. Neither are you. Not really. People like us, we have to do the dirty work. Things other people don't wanna know about."

Lilah began to struggle again, weakly, as explosions of black began to blot out her vision. Her lungs were on fire, her body demanding to be given oxygen, but she couldn't manage a breath. Dawn held her down until Lilah slumped off and lost consciousness. When the woman lay slack, Dawn felt her throat for a pulse. She felt it fluttering and held her hand over Lilah's mouth until the fluttering became very weak and she finally felt it disappear. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she held onto Lilah until the woman felt very cold to the touch and lifeless.

Dawn let her hand slide off of Lilah's mouth and stared into her face for a second as she stood up. "That was easy," she said aloud, a bit breathless.

"That's what's so dangerous about it," Faith answered, making Dawn jump. She stood in the doorway, making Dawn wonder how long she'd been there. Both brunettes stared at each other for a long time before Faith finally spoke again. "Fred was worried about you, and your sis will be back through any second."

"You're going to tell her," Dawn guessed, distrustfully moving towards Faith.

The slayer shook her head, slowly. "That bitch just stopped breathing."

Dawn let out a little sigh of relief, stepping towards the door when Faith suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her hard.

"Listen to me. This may have been noble once, but it will never pay off," Faith ground out, and shook Dawn hard again, to make sure she was listening. "Once you've taken a life with your own hands, you will _never_ forget it. I'm turning a blind eye once, but if anyone else finds out, they won't. You can _never_ do this again, do you understand me? **_Ever_**. Nothing good can come out of it, and nothing ever will."

* * *

Fred let out a sigh of relief when Faith emerged with Dawn.

"What were you doing in there?" the scientist scolded immediately.

"I found her poking around the lobby," Faith said.

"You had us worried sick," Fred fussed. "The last thing we need is for you to get hurt, too."

"What happened to Kennedy?" Dawn asked worriedly, watching Giles and Xander help Kennedy into the car.

"She's going to be okay," Fred assured Dawn, without answering her question.

"Did you see your sister inside?" Wesley asked Dawn.

"No," Dawn shook her head. "She's probably still…" she trailed off as they heard a crashing from within the building. A few seconds later they could see Buffy and Angel.

The two emerged from the building, leaving behind all of the wreckage and bodies. Angel held Spike in his arms, heedlessly stepping over a few bleeding, crippled employees that laid across their path.

"Let me carry him," Buffy said, trying to overcome a limp.

"Buffy, you're wounded," Wesley stated.

"Are there any inside?" Gunn asked, referring to soldiers who might put up a final fight.

"No, I don't think they're feeling very hostile anymore," Buffy said. "Linwood and Lilah are both dead," she paused for a moment, as if to register that fact with herself. "They don't have a reason to fight anymore." She stopped, studying her troops. Angel kept walking, numbly, carrying Spike to the car.

"What happened out here?"

"One of the soldiers had a grenade," Wesley explained. "Kennedy had some serious shrapnel, but Willow has handled that, and it currently trying to heal her. She'll still require some first-aid when we return. Your leg-"

"Gunshot," Buffy said dismissively. "A little peroxide and I'll be just dandy. We need to get out of here. Right now."

"Some of us will have to switch vehicles," Wesley said.

"WESLEY!" Angel barked, in such a severe tone that the watcher flinched with such fear for his boss that he hadn't felt since Angelus had last been out to play. "You're driving."

The watcher glanced at them nervously, and went to the car. They all took it as a sign to get the hell out of there. The others filed into the vehicles as quickly as they could. Xander's car left first, as soon as Dawn returned to the passenger seat. Kennedy, Willow, Giles and Gunn rode in the back. The wounded slayer was laid across their laps, mainly sitting on top of Willow, who whispered little words of love to try to keep the pain at bay.

Wesley and Fred sat in the front of Angel's convertible, while Angel, Buffy, and Faith were piled in the backseat. The watcher dutifully started the car and tore down the street, pushing the speed limit as he followed Xander on slightly roundabout way back to the hyperion.

"Hey," Faith commented as they drove away, looking back at the Wolfram and Hart building. As soon as they left the immediate area, they seemed to pass through something shimmering, and then the entire view of the building changed. It looked completely unscathed. No broken windows, no wounded lawyers with broken kneecaps laying in anguish on the front lawn. "That's a neat spell. When did Willow cast that one?"

Fred looked behind them, feeling both worried and grateful for the sight. "Um, she didn't do that. At least I don't think so. It has to be a defense mechanism of Wolfram and Hart."

"Weird defense mechanism."

Riding in silence, Angel and Buffy cradled Spike between them. They each nurtured their own possessiveness for him, and Buffy stroked the bloodstained sheets lovingly, hardly able to believe that they escaped as unscathed as they did. She just barely caressed any bare skin, made worried by the fact that there was actually very little skin to touch. The vampire stared ahead as they drove, unwilling to acknowledge the tears that dropped from his eyes when Buffy murmured about how cold Spike felt.

He squeezed his childe a little closer, as if keeping Spike close to his bloodline would bring him back to life.

_You're not gone, because_ **_you can't leave me yet_**_._

* * *

_I want to sleep the dream of the apples,  
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.  
I want to sleep the dream of that child  
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas._

_I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,  
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.  
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,  
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth  
that labors before dawn._

_I want to sleep awhile,  
awhile, a minute, a century;  
but all must know that I have not died;  
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;  
that I am the small friend of the West wing;  
that I am the intense shadows of my tears._

_- "Gacela of the Dark Death" by Federico Garcia Lorca_


	24. Diverging

_**A/N: Welcome back. ((cries)) A month passed by?! Who authorized THAT?! I certainly wasn't notified...**_

**_I missed you guys and sorry to have such horrible writer's block.  
_****_Here's a new chapter in which no one is stripped naked or molested by a thousand sex-crazed Anyas. :(  
It just didn't fit._**

* * *

_Fsssh_!

Faith lifted her hand up quickly and laughed when the pop foamed up and slightly sloshed over. "Here's to tough chicks!" she said, raising her bottle up. "May we forever kick ass."

"Hell yes," Kennedy chimed in, ignoring any pain when she leant forward to bump bottles with the others.

"Oh, guys, too I guess," Faith laughed when Gunn gave her a look. They knocked their bottles together as well, and Faith took a hearty chug, then licked the spilled soda off from the sides. "Got any rum?"

"Ah… yes," Wesley said, standing up a bit reluctantly from Fred's side. "I believe now is an appropriate time of celebration." He spoke slowly, almost slightly hesitant, watching Fred. She smiled to herself after a moment and graced him with a loving look from her great doe eyes.

"Damn right," Kennedy agreed, drinking off more of her pop so she could put in plenty of booze. "I've been shot in the leg and I deserve to get drunk off my ass tonight."

"I'm not sure if that's a wise idea," Willow said indecisively, deeply concerned for Kennedy's health.

Her girlfriend looked a bit shot-down, but Kennedy gave Willow a teasing reply; "Baby, are you saying you wouldn't like to have me in your bed, all drunk and uninhibited?"

"You're never inhibited," Willow muttered, smiling slowly as she gave into their infectious mood.

"Okay, we all get it," Cordelia said, being made a bit awkward by their behavior. "When it comes to Willow, Kennedy is a great big slut."

Faith nudged Dawn. "Hey girl, when you get home you should probably listen to some music in your room and forget anything you might hear."

"You're not going to watch movies with me or anything?" Dawn questioned.

"Sorry, munchkin. I'm crashing at Charlie's and then I'm hitting the road," Faith explained. "Three days from now I'll be killing demons in Sante Fe. Care to tag along, Charlie Boy?"

"I have previous obligations," Gunn declined her offer.

"I'll just have to give you a nice goodbye, then," Faith decided.

"We can watch movies, Dawnster," Xander offered quickly. "We'll rent some cheesy horror flicks and have lots of popcorn."

"You don't have to, Xander," Dawn said. "I've heard Willow and Kennedy going at it before. I'm a big girl now, and I can pretend I don't hear anything, just like the rest of you."

"Yeah, that's just the problem," Xander said uncomfortably. "All of this sexing isn't really so good around someone so…"

"Young and fertile?" Dawn guessed.

"I was just gonna say 'young' and leave it at that…."

.

"So," Fred said slowly, leaning over the counter when Wesley went to fetch a bottle of rum. "Where were we before we went off on crusade?"

"Ahh…" Wesley nervously licked his lips, absent-mindedly selecting a decent bottle of liquor. "Where indeed."

She turned, her back against the counter now. "You were trying to sugar-tongue your way into my good graces."

"Paying you compliments is the least that I could do to be in your good graces," Wesley murmured huskily, knowing it was the truth. He would kill for her within the blink of an eye, but he didn't want her to know that, wary of any reproach. "Believe that I would do anything for you."

"Anything?" Fred repeated, lifting her chin with intrigue.

"Anything you desired of me," Wesley confirmed in a whisper-soft voice.

"Kiss me," Fred said, her soft words as potent as a declared challenge. Brief disbelief crossed his face, and then she rose up on her toes, pressing her lips against his. His thoughts and feelings became like static electricity, tingling and alive even after she finally pulled away. He opened his eyes to see her standing there, panting softly and as gorgeous as ever.

"Uh… perhaps we should…" Wesley trailed off, uncertain of exactly what they should. All he knew was that he loved her dearly, and didn't want anything to spoil whatever fragile thing was between them. "It would be best if we took things slowly."

Fred visibly cringed, looking terribly upset by his words. "Don't you think it's been slow enough?"

"All of this time, have we wanted the same thing?" Wesley asked in a low voice, to keep their secrecy.

"That would depend," Fred responded. "I've always wanted to show you to my room."

"And… I've always wanted to see it," Wesley said, and they shared a smile. Fred seized his hand, all but dragging him back to the lobby, where the others were busy laughing over something. Giles remained outside of the group, however, and they quietly came closer to him, and Wesley handed him the bottle of rum.

"Be sure that someone is left to drive the others home," Wesley said to him.

"Oh. Yes, quite," Giles agreed, taking the bottle. He looked it over very briefly and then at Wesley and Fred. "Are you going to stay for a drink?"

"I've already topped off a glass," Wesley lied with a smile.

"I'm just gonna have to keep him here with me," Fred pitched in, with the same knowing smile that left Giles both surprised and amused. "Don't wait up."

"Enjoy yourselves, then," Giles offered quietly, nodding as they left for the stairs. Before anyone noticed the two heading upstairs, he went forth into the group, offering Faith a healthy portion of alcohol.

"See? They won't even miss us," Fred whispered when they reached the balcony.

"I'm not exactly thinking about them anymore," Wesley replied, keeping his eyes on her alone.

She smiled, flattered, but then the smile fell to concern when they silently passed Angel's room. "Do you think they're alright in there?"

"I'm sure they're quite fine," Wesley replied. "They need to dress Galen's wounds, but then it's just a matter of letting him get lots of rest."

"I'm just grateful that everything worked out," Fred said, reaching out to tug on Wesley's hand, drawing him forward, and at the same time she opened her bedroom door. Her walls were decorated with endless scribbles of theorems and equations. Her brains almost exceeded her beauty, but Wesley believed it only complimented it. "The good guys win, and the heroine gets her man."

"Is that how it goes?"

"Always."

* * *

The silence drew out and stretched on forever, until Angel was almost certain that everyone must have left. He didn't move an inch, focusing on Buffy alone, afraid that any wrong movement would shatter something irreplaceable.

The slayer was lying next to Galen on Angel's bed. Her hand lay across his newly bandaged chest; her honey-colored hair touched his shoulder where her head rested. Angel could smell the despair throughout the room, although it might have been his own reaction to the potent smell of his childe's blood in the air. Galen's skin was cold to Buffy, despite her best efforts to keep him warm. Nothing moved for a long time, until Buffy drew a breath and let it out slowly.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

The question made Angel tremble slightly, and his words seemed to be slow at coming out. "He's… he just needs to rest," Angel murmured, making a weak protest against death itself.

"Was he cold?" Buffy asked in a voice that was little more than a shadow, holding dead emotion and an echo of curiosity. "When you found him. Was he cold? Or did he just… stop breathing… sometime after that?"

Angel swallowed thickly, not wanting to answer her question. He wished she'd never known, or that she could have moved on after Spike's first death. They could have let Galen live a normal life and never known about any of this, but Buffy would tell him she didn't want it any differently. She would rather have Spike die with her, as opposed to being scared and alone in some laboratory. The very thought chilled Angel to the bone. For the first time in a long time after meeting Buffy, Angel felt dead inside.

"He died just after I got to him," Angel finally said.

"He waited," Buffy whispered, lifting her head to look down at Galen. When she actually looked at his face, however, she had to bite her tongue furiously not to cry and still failed. "I could have killed her myself," Buffy proclaimed, turning over and getting out of the bed quickly, wiping her suddenly feverish brow with the back of her hand.

"Buffy…" Angel said softly, breathless.

"We had him," Buffy stated, staring at Angel. Her eyes welled up as she recognized the meaning of those words, and she suddenly collapsed, her harsh gasp seeming tremendously loud in the silent room. "We _had_ _him_, Angel!"

"I know," Angel whispered, feeling his heart break more than it felt possible after losing his favorite childe. He went to her, standing over her while she sobbed, then knelt on the floor to comfort her, but they didn't touch. It was far too late for that.

"I would give _anything_ for him," Buffy swore to the cursed ground as she braced herself against it, half wishing that it could save her. "Let the Powers That Be take me instead."

"You wouldn't," Angel countered urgently. "You still belong here."

"But if _he_ could just stay here, I wouldn't bother him," Buffy sobbed. "He could be with anyone he loves. I just want him to be happy. He deserves that much… and to be truly loved…and… my love isn't enough for him."

"But he _is_ here," Angel insisted desperately, unwilling to believe anything less. His children were supposed to turn to ash long after he was gone. For Spike's body to even remain was equivalent to a miracle to him. He didn't want to have to recognize Spike as having a human death. When Spike passed in his presence, Angel died with him. The second loss of his childe was tearing him apart… and it was beginning to show.

"He's gone," Buffy breathed disbelievingly, shaking her head. "He's just gone."

Angel felt frozen inside, trapped in her eyes. He refused to bow to any convention, however, and stubbornly shook his head again. "He doesn't have to be."

* * *

"He'll have to be put down soon," the young volunteer explained sadly to Eamon, standing outside of the kennel that held Vancouver. Dogs barked and whimpered around them in various other cages. Some of them were old and sick; some of them were young enough to have the hope of being adopted. A family was at the other end of the walkway, kneeling in front of a dog that they were thinking of taking home.

"It's a shame, since he's been such a good dog," she added.

"Is he going to be put down because of his injuries?" Eamon asked.

"No, we're just perpetually overflowing with animals and don't have the space anymore. I wish we had enough space for all of them. Besides, most people want a puppy, not an injured dog. He's been such a good boy, though, haven't you, Max?"

Eamon smiled for a moment while the girl cooed at 'Max' and Vancouver belly-crawled towards the gate, letting her tickle his nose. From what he could tell, Vancouver was handling his wounds very well and was well on his way to a full recovery.

"I'll take him."

* * *

"I'll take him now, Buffy," Angel murmured, easing Galen out of her arms and into his. They sat next to each other against the headboard of Angel's bed. It felt strange, being in Angel's bed, but only because Buffy realized now that she felt very little for him at all anymore. She still loved him, but it wasn't a love that involved getting groiny out of the blue.

She carefully adjusted the sheets that were wrapped around Galen, making sure that they kept him warm. He had to stay warm.

"Are you sure it isn't too late?" Buffy wondered.

"He's only sleeping," Angel answered in a soft voice. "I'm going to wake him up." Although Galen's body was hours cold, there was no rigor mortis setting in. Angel mentally couldn't even think of such things, except that it meant he had a good chance of bringing Spike back to life.

Buffy watched Angel pet Galen and sighed slowly, sinking down into the bed. "How long will he dream?"

Angel lifted his head to ponder this, eyes glistening with only a fine dew of moisture. "Maybe for a very long time. Longer than all of us. But he's right here. He'll wake up when he's ready."

"Please wake up," Buffy whispered, resting her hand on the cocoon of blankets.

With deep reverence, Angel changed his face and split a vein in his wrist, letting the blood flow out. He guided the trickle of blood to his childe's lips and let it drip down. The rich red fluid coated Galen's lips after a brief moment, and began to escape, but much of it would find it's way down his throat. Hopefully it would be enough to keep him from succumbing to death's icy grip. Angel could only hope that after a few more feeding sessions Galen would awaken and be strong enough to actually suckle.

Nursing one of his childer brought back a feeling he hadn't had for a long time. It wouldn't be easy, dealing with Spike as a fledgling again, but he felt it would be worth it. The thing that pained him the most was that the smart-assed brat he'd grown to hate and love would never actually return to him. Anything else would just be a mockery of who Spike was. It was a bittersweet pain, though, because he was simply grateful to have his children again. Buffy curled beside him and slept, but he stayed awake well into the morning, giving Galen doses of his blood and whispering to him, urging him to come back.

* * *

"Dawn is still at Xander's house," Willow realized when she joined Kennedy in the kitchen. Usually she had a sharp mind about those things, but Kennedy had done things to her in the last eight hours that made her forget her own name.

"Buffy's not home, either," Kennedy said, popping open a bottle of champagne. "And to think, we could have not even bothered keeping quiet all this time."

"Kennedy," Willow scolded as the brunette began to pour a glass of champagne. "It's only… eleven in the morning."

"We've been up since eight," Kennedy shrugged. "I think. And I have pain. I'm entitled."

"Yeah," Willow huffed. Kennedy had been the one with shrapnel, but at the moment, _she_ was the one who could barely walk! Kennedy was pretty smug about the whole thing, too.

"Hey. Aren't I your brave warrior girl? I could've died a few hours ago, if it weren't for you."

"I saved your life," Willow said, her throat tight because she'd rather believe that even without her intervention, Kennedy would be fine.

"And haven't I been worshipping you for that?" Kennedy smiled, pressing kisses onto each side of Willow's neck. "My own goddess in the flesh. Come on, there's something I've always wanted to try with champagne."

* * *

Fred had been awake for a long time, but was in such a state of peaceful bliss that even long after she had fully realized where she was, she didn't want to move a millimeter. She kept her head on Wesley's chest for a long, long time thinking about their night together. They were both fully clothed, despite all of the tender kisses he had laid on her, which was somehow very romantic to her, despite a slight sense of disappointment.

She knew Wesley was awake, and seemed like he was for a long time, because she could feel his irregular breathing underneath her head, as if he was afraid to disturb her with even that much. Fred felt his arm move, a sure sign that he was awake, and finally stretched. She sat up, leaning on her elbow to look at him.

"You're awake," Wesley said quietly, full of attentiveness for her.

She tried not to smile, seeing what Wesley had been doing all of that time. "I finally get you into my bed and all you want to do is read," Fred murmured sleepily, feigning regret. "I thought we were cutting out the avoidance."

"I just… I don't want to…" Wesley held his breath and then sighed lightly, setting down the book without much regard for it. _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_ was the last thing he cared to focus on at the moment. "You're right. This is… far too much. We're both adults here, after all, and we need to be straightforward about our desires."

"That's right," Fred smiled, satisfied. "There aren't any delicate little girls here."

"For my sake, let's still pretend," Wesley smiled, reaching out for her. He put his hand on the back of her head with intent to kiss her when Fred suddenly squealed.

"Don't! I haven't brushed my teeth yet!" Fred protested.

"I don't care," Wesley chuckled, kissing her anyway.

* * *

Giles carefully rewrapped the bandages when he was done looking at some of Galen's wounds.

"And, um, all of the… discoloration… on his skin, what is that?" Buffy asked anxiously.

Giles lifted Galen's arm and looked over the blotchy skin again. "Just bruises."

"I told you," Angel murmured softly, trying to comfort Buffy. He knew she was just very concerned.

"But they're everywhere. Have you seen his back? Half of it…" she trailed off, remembering that Giles _had_ seen his back. "I just… I don't think they should be that… large."

"Well, you'd be right," Giles agreed. "My theory, however, was that there was some hemorrhaging under the skin. Hence, the sicking up of blood, and nosebleeds. This is probably a lot of burst capillaries. The things that concern me are the wounds inflicted by those demons. If they'd cut any deeper, he could have lost use of his hands."

Angel breathed out softly, stunned by the statement. "Like he could afford to lose another sense."

"Is there anything we could give him?" Buffy asked slowly, looking up at Giles. "To heal him, I mean."

"There is no instant healing in magic, Buffy," Giles said. "At least, it's often a bad path."

"I understand that," Buffy assured him. "I just mean something that will make it go faster, or get it started, or just strengthen his body so it can focus on repairing itself."

"There are some herbal remedies that should do the trick," Giles said. "But usually the wounded isn't comatose."

"Feeding him won't be a problem, Giles," Angel assured him. "Just find us something."

"Very well," Giles relented, leaving the room. Buffy went and quietly shut the door, leaving just the three of them again.

"That was clever," Angel admired.

"It was cover," Buffy replied dismissively.

"That's why it was clever."

* * *

"We've got a case," Cordelia announced after she put down the phone. She ripped off the sheet of note paper that held their information, and waved it in the air triumphantly, but only Gunn was there to witness the glory.

"Where is it?" Gunn asked, just as eager as her to get back to work that he was going to get paid for.

"Hold it, where is everyone?" Cordelia frowned.

"Boss man and the ex are upstairs," Gunn reminded her.

"And so is Giles," Cordelia stated. "Fred is probably moping around in her room."

"And Wesley is AWOL," Gunn finished. "Again, I'm askin' you what's the case? Maybe we don't need Angel."

"What do you need Angel for?" Giles asked, crossing the balcony and starting down the stairs.

Cordelia sighed and put her hands on her hips. "We have a case, but Mr. and Mrs. Broody are too busy…well…. How _are_ things up there?"

"He hasn't woken," Giles said heavily. "He's barely even given the faintest sign of life. I'm afraid I'm off to find some sort of concoction that will help him snap out of it."

"That bad, eh?" Gunn asked.

"Might even be worse," Giles considered darkly for a moment. "But as long as there's no internal bleeding, our odds are still good."

"What are the odds of internal bleeding?" Cordelia wondered. Giles didn't answer, and it occurred to her that with what blood she'd seen before, when she thought he had tuberculosis, it wasn't too good. "Oh… fricking hell. Don't tell me everyone risked their lives and there's still a great chance that he's going to die?"

Giles let out a tense breath. "I'll just go find that concoction, then, shall I?"

"Maybe you could talk to Willow, too," Cordelia suggested. "If you could pull her away from Kennedy long enough."

"Her powers have been sufficiently abused without my—" Giles stopped himself, mid-stream as he considered Willow's reformations. "Of course."

"That's what I've been saying," Cordelia stated, folding her arms triumphantly as Giles walked out. "Wait, what just happened?"

She and Gunn watched Giles leave, and her associate shook his head. "No one's gonna help a brother or sister in need. Looks like it's just going to be us."

"I like you better anyway," Cordelia told him. "Plus, we'll get paid more if we're the only ones working."

Gunn grinned. "Let's go make some money."

* * *

"It's not that I don't make enough money, but refusing to raise my salary?" Xander continued as they entered the building. "I mean, a guy has his superfluous expenses to pay."

"What about _me_?" Dawn pointed out, finding her key. "I mean, I still have to _get_ a job," she pushed the key into the doorknob and paused. "Do you think I could be an actress or something?"

"Uh-" Xander froze up, having programmed himself to not respond when it came to Dawn doing more adult things. "Maybe you should talk to your sister about that."

"Why? She'd just tell me I'm already too spoiled or that I'm fine the way I am," Dawn rolled her eyes a bit, opening the door. "I really should just ask Cordelia. She's actually had experience with that sort of thing, you know?" She reached out to turn on the lights and froze, looking out into the dim apartment.

"Was that--?" Xander froze again as he heard a very Willow-like gasp of pleasure. "O-kay!" he exclaimed, over any other noises that escaped. He reached out and grabbed the doorknob, pulling Dawn back into the hallway at the same time. "I'm sure you can manage to stay at my place for a while longer."

"Wait," Dawn frowned as he shut the door and turned the key again to lock it. "Shouldn't we make sure they're not under some sort of sex spell? Or at least throw a bucket of cold water on them?"

"As much as I'm all for a couple of wet lesbians…" Xander immediately dropped silent, choking on his own tongue. "Going now."

Dawn nodded quickly, and they fled.

* * *

Cordelia yelped and jumped back just in time to miss being sliced in half by the demon's claws. As it was, the razor-sharp tips nicked her stomach, slicing open her shirt and drawing a line of blood. She dropped her hands in anger, yelling at the demon, "This was my favorite shirt!"

The demon snarled and then gurgled when Gunn plunged his sword into the demon's neck and through its body.

"Don't like the taste of that, huh?" Gunn asked, keeping his arms locked around the demon as it struggled and died. He pulled out his sword, then, and let it fall onto the cracked tar of the alley.

"Very nice work," Cordelia complimented him, lifting her own sword. She didn't feel too bad that she didn't get to kill the demon herself.

"Couldn't have done it without you," Gunn tossed back. "Sorry about your shirt."

"My shirt?" Cordelia glanced down again at her belly. "Oh, I always hated this shirt anyway."

"But you said it was your favorite."

"Yeah, well, it just sounded cool to scream out," Cordelia shrugged. Gunn started to chuckle and comment on women, when she suddenly stumbled and started to fall. Gunn caught her by the shoulders before she went too far, careful to keep his sword from touching her.

"Cordy?"

"I had a vision," Cordelia murmured, still feeling weak in the knees. "I couldn't see where I was going."

Gunn held her steady until she seemed grounded again. "What did you see?"

"There was a young woman," Cordelia said. "She was being attacked by vampires."

Gunn felt his breath hitch, ready for some excitement. "Where?"

A woman's scream overlapped his question, and they both stared down at the opposite end of the alleyway.

"There."

* * *

"I think he's showing signs of healing."

Buffy stared at Galen, who hadn't moved a single millimeter unless they somehow moved him themselves. She tried to sit still on the edge of the bed, like a ghost. "How can you tell?"

Angel slid closer, moving out of the half-light. He paused for a moment to give his childe a small smile, and then leant down to gesture with his fingers close to Galen's skin. "Here. And here. The bruises are starting to subside. They'll be yellow in a week or so." He couldn't help but be fond of that fact, even though Galen was still so damaged. He fully intended to live out another century with his childe by his side, even if he had to find him a soul and kill half a dozen people to keep him.

"When is he going to wake up?" Buffy wondered.

"I don't know," Angel answered honestly. "All I can tell you is that Spike was always a fairly resilient vampire. Things might have gotten shot, with Wolfram and Hart in the mix, but…" he trailed off and let out a breath, knowing he was too optimistic about Galen being his childe again. "At least now we're back to something we know how to deal with."

"He needs blood when he wakes up," Buffy reminded Angel. "A very bloody blood diet to get him on the fast track to a full recovery. What do we do about that? Do we tell him? Tell them? Or are we just going to slip blood into his food for the rest of his life?"

"He'll find out sooner or later, whether we tell him or not," Angel reminded her.

Buffy nodded. "We should let him adjust at least before letting him know how we ruined his life forever in our efforts to save it."

"Buffy—"

"We turned him into what you've been trying to escape for the last four years," Buffy shook her head in dismay.

Angel took a slow breath, trying to think of what to say to her. "I really don't mind anymore, Buffy. I just don't want to lose him. Besides, if I become human, who's going to take care of Cordelia's paycheck?"

Buffy burst into a smile, then remembered Galen, and stroked his hair apologetically. Then again, she supposed an upbeat mood would heal him faster than anything resembling a funeral. "I think she's still got the hots for you, by the way."

"Really? No," Angel went from surprised to doubtful in 0.2 seconds. "I think she's making a list of 101 ways to be bitter."

"Well, you know Cordelia. When she likes a guy it tends to be in the 'I-hate-you' format."

Angel studied Buffy for a moment. "I guess that format of love gets around."

She blanched and ducked her head, brushing back her hair. "Yeah. Someone should really write a manual."

"Or at least wave a white flag once in a while," Angel added. "Give a guy a break every now and then."

"I—we _do_," Buffy said sheepishly, although she didn't even convince herself.

"I'll give you some alone time," Angel told her, acknowledging her grateful smile before he left the room.

When the door shut, Buffy drew in and released a breath, trying to get the tension out of her bones. "I guess I'm not very helpful, am I?"

Galen didn't reply, or even breathe, but she knew that a part of him was still alive in there. She didn't care that it was a demon deep inside; Spike had been a demon and he was just fine. Then again, the demon had been shaped with a lot of layers of history, and tempered by a chip. If necessary, she was sure she could coax Willow into casting an anti-bitey spell, however.

"I mean, I've been to cautious about everything," Buffy continued, somewhat at ease knowing that Galen didn't truly hear her words. "I was cautious to love you, cautious to accept that even though you were back, you were… different," she stopped, looking at Galen and tried to make herself realize, once again, that she wasn't talking to Spike. "But you're very different. I didn't even really stop to consider that. Except that, I actually sort of did. That's why I never talked to you about the past, and I tried so hard not to meddle. I didn't get my head around it in time to just suck it up and _take_ you away from that place. I didn't get to really know you, either, and…" she searched for the appropriate words. "I really hope that I didn't miss my chance."

She stared at Galen for a long time, until she felt that she could really see the man. Anything else melted away: the color of his hair, the pitfalls of human ailments, the splotchy bruises that spotted his skin, and even all of the lost history. There was something else underneath it all, when everything else was stripped away. It was _him_.

In the stillness, she thought she saw his eyes twitch, or his breath shift ever so slightly. The movement didn't come back, but she smiled so hard that it made her chest hurt and her eyes water.

"I'm Buffy Summers, and you may not remember me, but I love you."

* * *

**A/N: Hopefully I got over my road bump and will be able to get out another chapter by next week or something, but some author petting would help. ((hinty)) D:**


	25. Sarah

**A/N: By popular demand. **

**Once again, I love you all, my lovely reviewers. I only wish I could give replies to the anonymous people, because sometimes they leave comments that make my toes curl with glee. This is my reward to you. BTW, this was going to happen anyway. Seriously, just hang in there.**

**EDIT: Frick, I forgot to mention that this particular chapter is heavy with the self-injury (cutting). Sorry, but it's relevant, and it's not an emotional issue whatsoever. If you read it, you'll realize that, but I don't want to trigger anyone. ((hugs))**

* * *

"Can you tell us what happened?" Cordelia asked the woman they had saved.

"I, uh…" she trailed off uncertainly brushing light brown hair off of her forehead. "I'm not even entirely sure, to be honest. You were there."

"Tell us what happened before you saw us," Gunn prompted.

"I was just walking home," she said, searching Cordelia's face and then Angel's, who was standing nearby. "To this crappy little studio apartment. Only, when I got there, it was all busted in. I thought I'd been robbed, but there was someone there, and…. He attacked me."

Cordelia looked at Angel, waiting for his reaction.

"The vampire chased her?" Angel asked, glancing to his side as Buffy silently came down the stairs to stand beside him.

"Yup," Cordelia nodded. "Five blocks, apparently. The place was trashed; we couldn't leave her there."

"Get this," Gunn added. "Before we offed the guy, he says, '_She has to die_.'"

Angel considered this, staring at the woman who sat nervously, with a healing gash on her forehead. "Is there a reason why someone would want to kill you?"

She looked up at him, surprised. "Me? I-I'm only a_ cashier_ at this stupid little convenience store. The guy was a psychopath."

There was a pregnant pause as everyone waited for Angel to make a decision.

"Do you have a place where you can stay?" She shook her head slowly. "Well, then you're welcome to stay here," Angel told her. "Until we can figure out who has a vendetta against you."

"I'm sorry, but… how are you going to do that?"

"We have our resources," Angel replied. "But you'll have to cooperate with us."

"I'm not sure how far you'll get," she folded her arms anxiously. "The guy's already dead."

"He was dead when he attacked you, sweetheart," Cordelia pointed out.

"What?" her pretty mouth fell open in shock.

"Cordy, could you help her find a room?" Angel requested. "And make sure she's up to speed while you're at it."

"Sure thing." Cordelia took the woman's arm and guided her away and up the stairs. "How's that head?"

"I must have hit it pretty hard. Why are we doing this?"

"Because someone wants to kill you," Cordelia said brusquely. "And the sooner you fess up about what you are, or did, or know, the sooner Angel can do what he does best. Help you."

Angel turned to look at Buffy after the woman left. "What do you think?"

"She's a liar," Buffy said. "She knows a lot more than she's telling us."

"The girl just got attacked by a set of fangs," Gunn defended.

"You're probably right," Angel said to Buffy. "But we still have to protect her. She's still and innocent, and we have to help the helpless. She'll come around."

The front door swung open, and Dawn walked in, followed by Xander.

"Hey guys," Buffy greeted, somewhat surprised by their arrival. "How did your moviefest turn out?"

"Oh… great," Xander told Buffy. He stopped near his friends, nervously cracking his knuckles as he tried to think of a way to delicately broach the subject. "You've got a couple of sex-crazed lesbians in your house."

Buffy paused, bewildered. "What?"

"I think they're under a spell," Dawn told her sister. "Kennedy and Willow won't stop sexing each other."

"Did you… try to _pull_ _them_ _apart_ or something?" Buffy scrunched up her nose, confused.

"_No_, no," Xander said quickly, waving his hands. "We didn't charge in or anything. World of_ badness_, there."

"But the entire reason for our sleepover was so they could get frisky," Dawn said, "and when we go back, they're _still_… you know. _Frisking_ each other."

Buffy's eyebrows rose, and she looked at Angel, who was busy trying to keep his mind in brooding mode.

"When you went home last night, were they still doing it?" Xander asked Buffy.

"I… I never went home," Buffy admitted. She frowned at Dawn's little shocked expression. "I stayed with Galen. He's in really bad shape, so I don't think I'll be leaving him for a while. But you're saying that they won't stop… boinking each other?"

Gunn swallowed thickly and stood up, lifting his sword. "Let's go save them. Or, you know… help them."

"With sharp, pointy weapons?" Xander questioned.

"I'm thinking cold bucket o' water," Dawn said. "Something to douse the flames before they end up having sex on the kitchen counter or something."

"Oh, God," Angel put a hand to his face at the imagery, and Gunn sat back down.

"Knowing Willow, there's probably a spell involved," Buffy said. "Maybe not even intentional, but…" she trailed off, mouth still open as Giles and Willow trooped in through the front door. They came to stand near the small gathering. "Willow. You're… wearing clothes."

"Thanks," Willow gave an embarrassed look and then gestured at Buffy. "You too! Go us. What did you need me for?"

"Need?" Buffy looked puzzled.

"I believe she could assist us in healing Galen," Giles said, taking off his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "That is what you wanted, correct?"

"Oh, I can't do a spell," Willow objected anxiously. "I've still got the jitters from the last few you had me do-"

"Not a spell, Willow," Giles assured her. "Remember when we practiced channeling our energies?"

Willow exhaled and nodded, slowly. "In England."

"Yes," Giles put a hand on her shoulder. "All things are connected. You have… lots of energy… and it would be incredibly helpful if you could sit with him for a while."

"Well, I'm not really sure I have all that much energy," Willow looked up at her friends, paling somewhat. "I mean, after all of these really intense… spells."

"I'll help you, Wil," Buffy promised, giving the redhead a comforting smile. She put her arm around Willow, and Giles let his hand fall away as the girls walked off to go upstairs.

"I'll be along in a moment," Giles told Angel, and the vampire walked away as well. The watcher stood still for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration and then replaced his glasses on his face.

"Girl was getting her freak on when you went there, wasn't she?" Gunn asked, making Giles flush, Dawn try not to laugh, and Xander look traumatized.

"I'll be seeing if they need my assistance," Giles stated uncomfortably, heading upstairs.

"I'm not sure if this is going to help much," Willow warned them, able to feel the intense emotions that Angel and Buffy had for Galen getting better. She flinched when she saw Galen up close, and walked around the bed to feel the condition of the energies already present. Resting very lightly on the edge of the bed, Willow examined the visible extent of his injuries.

"Are you telling me it won't?" Buffy asked.

"No. It will. I just don't know if it will be _enough_. It's not just energy he needs. His body has to repair itself, which means it has to take matter from somewhere else. He's already underweight, and hasn't fed well—"

"He's been fed," Buffy informed Willow. "Don't worry about that. Can you channel your energy, or chi or whatever?"

Willow took a breath and nodded. "I think he'll be receptive."

"Find your center," Giles encouraged, entering the room just enough to be there with them, out of the way. "Find the pool of energies that resides in you, and let it flow out. Channel your energies into him."

Willow nodded and turned, pulling her feet up onto the bed and crossing her legs so she could sit comfortably beside Galen. She reached out and gently stroked Galen's face with the back of her hand, able to feel the rough scabs where he'd been attacked and cut. "Poor fellow. He's lucky to be alive."

Buffy folded her arms uncomfortably. "Yeah. He's very lucky."

Willow gave her a soft smile, then lifted Galen's wrist. She captured his hand between hers, resting it on her ankles as she closed her eyes. There was a long moment of tense silence and then Willow gasped, lifting her hands a little.

"What?" Buffy asked.

"I found it," Willow said, her eyes still closed. A small smile lit up her face. "It's like a little pulse, or something. A little place… and he's there. He's in there," she opened her eyes and leaned forward to run her hand over Galen's forehead. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Is he awake?" Buffy let her arms fall, watching Galen intensely.

"No," Willow shrugged a little and held onto Galen's hand again. "He's not really altogether, either. But he's there."

"Are you talking about an astral plane?" Giles questioned.

"I don't know," Willow frowned a little. "But I'm going to channel my energies there."

Buffy shifted anxiously. "Can I help you?"

"I think he'd like that," Willow smiled.

Buffy approached the bed and climbed up, turning towards Galen so there was enough room when she crossed her legs and settled in. She watched for a moment, stroking her finger over a strip of smooth skin on the back of his hand, then lightly over his scarred knuckles. She wrapped her hands around his fingers and held on, trying to feel the energies inside of herself.

"This might go better if we're alone for a while," Willow suggested to Angel and Giles. "Not that I don't appreciate the support, but it will work better if we achieved a trance of some sort. Give us maybe an hour, at least?"

"Certainly," Giles agreed, waiting for Angel's agreement.

"We'll be right downstairs," Angel told Buffy. He turned to leave, stopping short when he saw the woman they'd recently rescued looking in at the doorway. "You shouldn't be here."

"Wait," she protested when Angel started to walk towards her. She stared at Galen. "Is he dying?"

"Get her out of here, Angel," Buffy told him.

"Let's go downstairs," Angel suggested, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she dodged his hand.

"I know him," she blurted out, still focused on Galen. "I've seen him before."

Angel stopped, hands falling and the woman slowly walked into the room, taking in a better view of Galen's bruised and scarred face.

"You know him?" Buffy asked her, staring up at the woman.

"I've spoken to him before," she nodded, swallowing at the realization of how hurt he was now. "We really… could I sit with him for a moment?"

Buffy stared at her. "No."

Her blue eyes widened in surprise at Buffy's rudeness. "I only want to see him. If he's dying—"

"Get out of here."

"Buffy," Willow said softly, letting go of Galen's hand. "If she knows him, then it might help."

"If he were awake, he'd want me to sit with him," the woman stated, staying brave.

Buffy stared at the woman and slowly lowered Galen's hand back onto the bed. Keeping a deadly gaze on the unwelcomed visitor, she climbed off of the bed.

The woman gave her a sort of half-smile and then ignored her. She sat on the edge of the bed, where Buffy had been sitting, and held Galen's hand, wrapping her fingertips around to press lightly against his wrist. As soon as she made contact with the thin skin, so close to the arteries, wisps of information came to her. While she outwardly made puppy eyes and stroked his skin, she was leeching into his mind, triggering dreams, letting memories fire off and leak. She could feel that he was already close to death, feel freshly untapped power just waiting in his belly. There so many nooks and crannies that she could easily slip into, but she needed to find the perfect niche.

"Exactly _what_ did you say your name was?" Buffy interrupted the deep connection. All of the required information was already acquired, and she could take more later.

The woman let go of Galen's wrist and turned her head to look at Buffy. "Sarah." She reached out and stroked Galen's head delicately. "I knew Galen when he was in my group. He made me feel welcomed." Sarah waited for a moment and then stood up and slowly headed for the door. "I should let him sleep. I can visit him another time."

"You're not visiting him again," Buffy shook her head, making Sarah pause, surprised.

"We were best friends," Sarah frowned at Buffy, trying to think of exactly what Buffy was to Galen, but she hadn't found very much connection at all. "When he wakes up, he'll want to see me."

"You won't be around when he wakes up," Buffy stated coldly, "and he'll never know you were here."

"Who do you think you are –?"

"Going. Now," Angel stated, nudging Sarah towards the door to avoid a catfight. "Arguing isn't solving anything. Let's go downstairs."

"Buffy," Willow said. "If she's really someone Galen knew, it'll probably help his recovery to have her around."

"The girl is a liar," Buffy stated, sitting down on the bed again. "I don't want her touching him."

"Jealousy doesn't become you. He isn't yours, Buffy," Giles reminded her. "Even though you may love him very much, it's still his decision."

"So far, things from his past haven't been very good," Buffy pointed out, but Giles remained firm. "How can you believe that?"

Giles sighed softly. "I think you're still afraid of letting him go."

Buffy stared at him. "I'm not letting him go," she said quietly.

"He isn't yours, Buffy," Giles said again.

"Yes he is," Buffy said. "Giles, if he knew everything, he wouldn't look at that girl twice."

"That isn't the matter at hand."

"Please leave, Giles," Buffy requested.

He closed his mouth into a grim line of disapproval and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He was somewhat surprised to see Wesley and Fred standing in the hall, looking as if they had been planning to go into the room.

"Is he okay?" Fred asked. "We thought that… we should make sure he was okay."

"He's not out of the woods yet," Giles answered, already trying to shake off Buffy's childish behavior. "Willow is sitting with him at the moment. She intends to help him heal by channeling her energies."

Wesley nodded. "That should be useful."

"There's nothing else to do at the moment except wait," Giles concluded. He gave Wesley and Fred a look-over, noting that they had just happened to visit together, and each looked a bit disheveled. He walked by them slowly, prepared to let it go, but just couldn't this time. "Although, I imagine you've found something else to bide your time."

"Rupert," Wesley breathed while Fred blushed. "Don't go about imagining things."

The older man chuckled and walked away, leaving them to their devices.

"What would you like to do to bide our time?" Wesley asked Fred.

"I don't know what _you're_ going to do, but I need a shower," Fred answered.

"Right," Wesley pressed his lips together grimly. "There is a volume I've been meaning to get around to…."

"You're hopeless, Wesley," Fred sighed, locking his hand in his to purposefully drag him away.

* * *

The redhead took a breath. "Could you believe that girl?" she asked after a long moment. "Trying to steal your unconscious, beaten-to-a-bloody-pulp stud away from you? _Major_ ho."

Buffy tried to smile. "Thanks, Wil. Let's just focus on the meditation thingy, okay?"

"Alright," Willow agreed, letting Buffy get comfortable again. She picked up Galen's hand again and cupped her hands around his until she was relaxed again, closing her eyes and preparing to tap into him and seek out where he was hiding.

"Whoa."

Buffy lifted her head. "What? What 'whoa'?"

"Um… there's definitely something there. Now. A lot of activity. Do you feel it?"

Buffy looked down at Galen and picked up his hand, closing her eyes quickly and trying to find the meditative space that would let her pick up the same sensations. "What is it?"

"Remember I told you he was in a very small space?" Willow reminded her friend. "Well, that space got a helluva lot bigger."

Buffy kept her eyes closed and dug into the reserves of her energy. When she visualized directing that energy through her fingers, into Galen, it suddenly seemed she could feel something. It was like having racing thoughts that weren't her own, only she couldn't quite pick up on what they were about. "Is he dreaming?"

"I think so," Willow smiled a little. "Maybe we sort of woke him up. If we focus, we might be able to see what he's dreaming about."

Buffy smiled and bit her lip, wiggling her butt to get comfortable. "I wonder if he still dreams about shoes…."

* * *

"How do you know Galen?" Dawn asked Sarah, staring at the brunette.

"We were in the same group," Sarah explained to her, as well as the others who were listening. "Group therapy. He didn't talk much, but we looked out for each other. How has he been?"

"It's… an on and off thing," Dawn replied.

The woman shook her head remorsefully. "He can't be doing very well, the way he's all busted up like that. Who did that to him?"

"Some skeezy people," Cordelia answered.

"Well, if I was his girlfriend, I'd beat the living daylights out of whoever banged him up like that," Sarah said, gesturing to herself.

"You're not his girlfriend," Cordelia reminded her.

Sarah paused. "Is that woman upstairs his girlfriend?"

"She likes him," Dawn answered, hedging the subject.

"Does he like her back?" Sarah questioned, waiting for a response. "'Cause he really liked me. He would hold my hand everyday, even when he didn't need to. We shared everything together."

"Sounds like a real romance," Xander said. "And this was in the hospital?"

"Look, I was just attacked by a blood-sucking freak. I don't need to be judged right now." Sarah waited and then sighed and looked around. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Angel pointed it out to her and she left, shutting and locking the door behind her. Crucial elements were coming to her as she processed the downloaded memories. Blending into the background was proving harder than normal, even though she thought she'd found a perfect inlet. She'd never really done impersonation work to latch onto someone so socially connected. All things considered, it was going well, but there were a few glitches that needed to be fixed. As the streams of memories pulled together, she was finding a gap in her persona. Sarah was a cutter, and Galen always held her hands. He'd stroke his fingers over the scars again and again. She knew that much, and she also knew that her wrists were unblemished. That had to change.

Keeping an ear open to the noise beyond the bathroom door, Sarah rifled through the cabinet until she found a disposable razor. She turned on the faucet, letting a stream of water give her some cover noise, and rolled up her sleeves. She wrapped the blade in toilet paper and cracked the head open on the side of the sink. After that, she carefully pried apart the shattered plastic to retrieve one of the blades.

She visually judged where to place the scars and then sliced across her veins with cold, calculated precision, barely feeling a thing as she forced the blade through. When one cut was made, she added another and another until she had several scars on her wrists. They barely bled, as she had little blood to spill, and she willed them to heal even faster than normal. She repeated the process with the other arm, and then set the bloodied scrap of silver on the edge of the sink while she washed up.

A human would have bled to death from just a few of the cuts. Sarah was left with a few raised scars, like old wounds. She examined the precise work and then rolled down her sleeves, turning off the water. The blade and shards from the disposable razor were disposed of in the trashcan. She wiped up any blood that had dripped onto the floor, tossed the tissues into the toilet bowl and then flushed away the evidence.

Problem solved.

Sarah exited the bathroom, returning to the group. "Where were we? Oh, that's right. You were harassing me."

"We weren't harassing you," Dawn protested. "We weren't trying to. We're just concerned. For Galen."

"I'm concerned for him, too," Sarah said, sitting down on the arm of the couch. "Don't you think it kills me to find my friend again, and see him like this?"

"You have other problems to worry about," Cordelia said. "Like whoever wants to kill you."

She sighed softly. "I don't know much about that. But I trust that you can help me?"

"We'll do everything that we can," Angel promised.

Sarah smiled sadly and stood up again, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "This is all kind of overwhelming, I guess. I never thought I'd see Galen again, and then – bam – there he is. Only I can't talk to him. If I could talk to him, you'd see. We really clicked."

"We don't know when he's going to wake up," Dawn said quietly.

"Or if," Xander reminded them. The reminder was very unwelcomed.

"He's strong," Sarah said.

"That he is," Angel agreed. Maybe the girl really knew Galen after all.

* * *

It was stronger now, like a stream of consciousness. Buffy could feel the force of it. It wasn't powerful, but it was enough. It felt as if a cool push of energy was going through her brain. When she focused, she was absorbed into it, and she could almost see. She wondered if it was how Galen saw the world.

Objects were like vague, black shadows of themselves, only visible by the dim light that made them into silhouettes. Her skin itched vaguely. A thousand eyes pressed in from all directions, with an enormous weight that settled heavily in her chest. Made it hard to breathe. She heard voices at the back of her head, and then they grew clearer, like a lens focusing. When she turned around, she left herself. She saw a light; a defined spot in the distance that banished away the surrounding darkness. More lights dotted the shapeless sky. The ground was cold. The smell of vomit and window spray was overpowering. Someone wanted her to share all of her secrets, but they didn't ask. They demanded. Expectantly. She felt exposed, with a panic settling into her stomach. The world wasn't real. She wanted to hurl. The walls shrank away a million miles and then wanted to crush her and suck her inside of them, into their greedy bellies where the sad ones went to rot. A gentle hand in her hands brought her back to contextual reality. Everything was so hard to hold onto, so easily slipping off, sloughing away like rainwater. She clenched the hand more tightly in her grasp. It suddenly came sharply into her mind that she had forgotten something very important. It was worth more than breathing, but she couldn't think of what it was, and the grief sent her sinking to the floor and through the floor into the ground. It was smaller there. Quiet. She could think without feeling.

"We lost him again."

Buffy physically jolted as she came back, realizing in a daze that she'd slipped off into some sort of a trance. At the same moment, Galen drew a breath so sharp that it made his chest jerk upwards for a second, capturing their attention.

"Galen?" Buffy asked, to no response. She reached out and stroked her palm over the side of his head, and he turned into it fractionally. "Is he awake?"

They waited for a very long time, to no reaction, except for his very slow breathing.

"He was right here," Buffy whispered. "Now he's gone."

"Buffy?" Willow looked concerned, and then sympathetic. "We lost him again," she repeated. "Inside, I mean. I don't know where he went, but he went away."

"He hid," Buffy stated, looking down at Galen's hand in hers. She'd forgotten she was holding it. "It's so lonely in there."

"You were in his dream?" Willow asked, amazed. She had skimmed along his subconscious, but was unable to enter and didn't force herself through. Instead, she'd focused purely on channeling her energies.

"I don't know," Buffy said. "I think I saw what he sees. Or maybe what goes through his head when things are bad. It's so hard to see anything in there, Wil. To tell the difference between what's real and what isn't real. And there's so much fear… confusion. All that he has is the physical connection to this place. Someone to hold onto," she added, squeezing Galen's hand.

Willow smiled. "Guess that's why he gets so snuggly."

"And why he likes to have someone hold his hand, no matter who it is," Buffy said. "I wanna be the girl whose hand he wants to hold more than anyone else."

"I think he'd like that," Willow whispered sincerely, happy for her friend. "I know that he would."

Buffy nodded, slightly, barely able to breathe as emotions threatened to consume her. She rested her elbows on her knees, bringing Galen's hand to her lips and kept it there, closing her eyes to avoid remembering that all of Galen that was good had died. All that was left of him were echoes of his memories, and a demon trapped somewhere inside, waiting to be let out.

* * *

Sarah waited in her room until the only noise that could be heard was the groaning of the old hotel as it settled. She sat at the center of her bed, as still as a statue, staring at the wall. But she wasn't looking at the wall. The witching hour was at hand. It was the time when all nasty demons went to play. In the minute between 12:00 and 12:01, an hour existed, which was only accessible to certain nasty demons. Sarah was already out and ready to have some fun.

Her snake skin whispered when she traveled through the walls, lighter than an imaginary breath that an Old One sighed as he died. She entered Galen's room, melting in and out of shadows. His wannabe-girlfriend was curled beside him, as if her physical presence could keep the monsters at bay. She was beyond wrong.

Sarah moved closer to the bed, the scent of death in the air a heightening aphrodisiac to her. She ran her nails over her chest, scratching over every stark rib and leaving lines of congealed blood on her pale yellow skin. Something about tonight made her skin want to itch right off. She hadn't felt desire like that in a long time.

Galen was the perfect prey. So close to death, so full of wasted life. So handsome. He would be much more satisfying than her usual marks. It was all too easy to pick off the elderly, to _put_ them on their death beds and then end it. They were barely worth her time, since she got so little out of them. They were just food to her, and not much fun to fuck with. She preferred hunting the strays. And as secure as the others thought Galen was, he was so far away from them.

The temptation to kill this prey outright was strong, but she wasn't that kind of girl. She climbed onto the bed, emaciated body settling over him. The bed sank slowly as she allowed herself to take a corporeal form. The witch had spent hours channeling her energies into him. Wasted time. She was going to have so much fun sucking it out. She could leech on him for days, and off of the others' misery as they watched his progress wan. Watched him wither away and die. The girlfriend would be easy to feast on after that, but she'd leave her alive. Barely.

Sarah leaned over Galen, dragging one chipped talon down over his lips, slicing the tender flesh. She watched the warm blood fill up, then leant down and licked it off. "So sweet," she murmured, her icy breath against his face. "But I need more information. Let's see what's going on inside."

She leaned up enough to pull the sheets off of him, exposing the lean, naked body underneath. The wounds made her more excited, and she squeezed her thighs around him as she dragged her talons over the scabs, opening them up again. Galen made a small noise and then whimpered softly, like a child crying.

"Shh, baby," she purred, reaching out her other hand again and resting her finger on his lips. "It's going to hurt so much more, and you need to be a good boy."

When he lay still again, Sarah lapped the blood off of him, nipping at flaking scabs. He tasted like clover and resin. Flashes of his memories went off in her head like sparks, revealing more information to her. Pain – loneliness – violence. It was perfect. It was delicious. She slid her thigh over him, grinding down against his hip, overcome with desire for this kill. But that wasn't anything special; it was merely blood lust. Her palm grazed over his lips while her other hand scratched lightly at his stomach, finding the perfect spot.

Stage two of the fun came when she mortally wounded her victim. It made things so much more fun to watch them struggle for life before their little session ended. With a final decision, she clamped her hand over his mouth, and nose, cutting off his air. Pressing into his belly, she tore her talons into his skin, puncturing the pale stomach with her fingers. With great pleasure, she shoved her hand down, savoring the slick push inside of him. Blood gushed and flowed out around her wrist, sliding off of his sides as his body undulated in resistance. Sarah laughed at his struggles, pressing down on him with her weight to keep him still.

His insides throbbed around her fist. It was better than fucking.

* * *

**A/N: Mercy? What the hell is that?**


	26. Signifying Nothing

**A/N: Happy anniversary. Here's some love, in the form of excessive gore. :D**

* * *

Sarah laughed, overcome with glee as he fought to breathe against her hand. She merely clamped her hand over his mouth even harder, talons digging at the sides of his face. She pulled her hand out of his stomach, soaked and sticky and licked her fist, savoring the taste of his sweet blood. He was nothing more than a meal to her. A sweet cuisine, at that.

"Think I could rip out your entrails?" she asked, tauntingly. She glanced at Buffy, who was sleeping like an angel, and turned her attention on her, cupping the slayer's face so Galen's blood smeared on her. "I could pop your pretty girlfriend's eyes with my teeth, and lick her brain. Want me to do that?" She stared at Galen, but he didn't answer. They never did. It was frustrating. She turned Buffy's face and licked her cheek, then let her rest again, still stained with her pretty boyfriend's blood.

Returning to the matter at hand, Sarah sat up again, bucking her hips against Galen and arching her back, a mockery of human pleasure. Humans didn't know real pleasure; pleasure so strong it would crush them and make their hearts explode. "Love riding you, pretty boy. Too bad no one else ever will," she murmured, dreaming of stealing away his last breath. "You react so easily. Cry for me again."

She leaned down, burying her nose into the wound she'd given him. His breath was labored, but she knew she hadn't punctured a lung. Experience told her that it ended the fun too quickly. She lapped at the blood, thrusting her tongue into the depths of the wound while Galen whimpered softly in pain. It was a lot like fucking, but so much more fun. She ran her tongue over his quivering insides, and then lifted her bloody face to stare at him. With serpentine grace, she slithered up his body, laying her claws on his shoulders. Examining his bloodied lips, she decided to add some more and kissed him fiercely, hissing softly with pleasure at the feel of his yielding mouth.

Time was short. She needed to start feeding while she could and drain him slowly for as along as possible. Hundreds of sharp fangs extended from her gums, like a maw of needles. Pulling her lips back into a sneer, she plunged down and sank into his neck. She felt him trying to breathe and struggle, through the many nerve endings in her teeth, but the venom was too strong, and there wasn't a soul in the world that could help him.

* * *

Her lips were soft on his, nipping his mouth lightly to elicit a response. He drew a soft breath, stealing the air from her lungs. When he opened his eyes, she smiled at him with shimmering eyes. "I love you."

He stilled for a moment, searching her face. She was so beautiful to him, like an angel. He wondered why they cast her from heaven, and then felt the knife in his stomach. He sat up, crying out softly at the sharp pain. He held onto her arms, distracted by the ringlets of silken gold that fell over her shoulders. Her beauty confused him. The pain in his stomach intensified.

"Why did you kill me?"

Her smile faded.

"You don't remember me," she responded, as if it were the answer.

"But I could. Please tell me again."

"I won't do that for you," she said softly.

"I'm dying," he choked out, pleading with her. "Please tell me what I forgot."

"It's better this way."

* * *

"You forgot to mention you're completely in love with her," Cordelia said to Wesley with a hint of annoyance when he finally showed his face the next day. She stood up behind the desk to give him her full attention and wrath.

"I wasn't aware it was something I had to run it by anyone," Wesley replied.

"Well, we already knew that you had a huge, suffering crush on her. But you actually take and make her into a woman? And I don't know about it for eight hours? What is the world coming to?"

"I'd fully appreciate if you never said anything like that ever again."

Cordelia paused, watching him. "Alright, fine. But only because you're British and can't take a joke."

"What is the joke?"

Cordelia swatted at him. "That I'm _happy_ for you, dummy! It's about time that you two got together. Now you can breed and have little genius babies together. That's what you've always wanted, right?"

"Honestly, I don't see that happening anytime soon," Wesley answered. "Not so long as our lives are at risk day in and day out, fighting any incarnation of evil imaginable. It's hardly a place for… small children."

Cordelia stared at him. "You can't even bring yourself to say the word 'babies' can you?"

"What about babies?" Fred asked, immediately prancing over to them.

"Wesley hates them," Cordelia accused. "And he never wants to have any."

"That's not true," Wesley frowned.

"You don't want any?" Fred pouted slightly, leaning against the desk, near him.

"Not at the moment, no," Wesley said.

"Haven't you always wanted to have babies, Fred?" Cordelia asked, feigning innocence.

"Why, sure," Fred smiled with a blush as she remembered all of the silly things she used to dream for. "I always wanted to have a bunch of itty bitty rug rats to fill up all of my dresser drawers." She laughed a bit as she said this, and subtly nudged her foot against Wesley's foot.

"Dresser drawers?" Wesley repeated.

"My daddy always told me he slept in a drawer when he was tiny," Fred smiled, making her nose scrunch up. "But this isn't any place for bitty babies."

"Uh huh," Cordelia leaned forward until she could see over the desk, catching Fred's foot against Wesley's. She gave Fred a 'gotcha' smile and Fred bit the inside of her cheek, disengaging from Wesley.

Angel came walking into the lobby, carrying a small trashcan in one hand and looking a bit confused. It was one of his limited set of expressions, and could easily fall underneath the 'brooding' category.

"Bout time you took out the trash," was all that Cordelia said. "Hey. Don't these two make a cute couple?"

Angel looked at them, even more confused now. "What?"

"Wesley. Fred," Cordelia clarified, while they blushed and Wesley looked like he might murder her. "Are you completely oblivious to the ongoing chronicles of sexual tension between these two? Or the fact that Wesley didn't put in a single hour of work yesterday?"

"I didn't notice," Angel frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to think. "I was focused on Spike. You two are…? Never mind. Congratulations."

"This doesn't change anything," Wesley said, knowing that one of Angel first concerns would probably be the continuation of their work.

"Of course," Fred added. "There's still a lot of sleuthing to do, and I'd – we'd – never want to mess that up. We'll just be… seeing each other now."

"That's great," Angel said, but it was evident that he was still confused.

"What's that?" Fred asked, gesturing to the trashcan.

"Evidence," Angel replied.

"Okay," Fred waited for a second, and when Angel didn't elaborate, she decided it was time to go mind her own business somewhere else. "Um, Wesley, do you want to grab breakfast somewhere?"

"Uh – y-yes," Wesley agreed.

"Y-y-y-yes," Cordelia repeated, teasing him. "Fred, you've already got the man stammering and blushing over you. Pretty soon he'll be tripping over his own feet and his own tongue."

Fred gave Cordelia a quietly disapproving look as they headed for the door.

"I want an invitation to the wedding," Cordelia called after them. When the door shut, she smirked at Angel. "If they think they're going to escape the endless comments about this, they're so wrong." She waited for Angel to agree or say something about her knocking it off, but he didn't do either. "Angel? What's your glitch with the trashcan?"

"Where's Sarah?" he asked instead.

Cordelia stopped short, considering this. "Probably still in her room. Why?"

"Yesterday I thought I smelled blood," Angel said.

"Well, she _did_ have that head bump," Cordelia reminded him.

"More blood," Angel shook his head. "She went to the bathroom down here yesterday, didn't she?"

Cordelia looked at him and then the small trashcan again. "Oh. Oh, hell, Angel. There are these things that women have called Tampons—"

Angel looked horrified, gesturing for her to shut up. "Not… _that_."

"Oh," Cordelia was momentarily embarrassed, and then she reminded herself that she didn't care. "What, then?"

"Angel," Buffy's voice interrupted them, and the slayer came trotting down the stairs, making her way to Angel quickly. She stopped near him, running a hand through her hair again to make sure she didn't have bed head. "It's Galen."

"What's wrong?" Angel asked, fearing the worst.

"Nothing," Buffy said quickly. "Not really. When I woke up, he was bleeding a little, but… I think he moved in his sleep."

Angel paused for a moment, considering Sarah's blood and then the meaning of Galen moving in his sleep. "He did?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I think so. And he moved enough to open up his wounds a little bit, but I think that's only minor. The only other possibility is that I sexed him up while I was sleeping. That's probably a long shot, but I _did_ have this really sexy dream last night about…" she stopped herself, realizing that Angel was staring at her. "…kittens. Um… really sexy kittens."

"Would you say that they were 'sex kittens'?" Cordelia asked.

"Do you think Willow's session with him helped?" Angel questioned, ignoring both women.

"Hey, I helped her out, too," Buffy protested. "And we definitely contacted him." She lowered her gaze, staring at the trashcan that he was still holding onto. "What's up with that?" she asked, pointing.

"Last night while you were sitting with Galen, Sarah made a visit to the bathroom," Angel said, making the slayer raise her eyebrows. "I thought I smelled blood… and then today I found this." He reached into the trashcan and fished out a small scrap of silver. It was nearly insignificant, until Buffy looked at it harder, and her eyes widened.

"What the hell is that?" Cordelia asked, while Buffy carefully plucked it from Angel's hand to examine it.

"It's a razorblade," Angel said. "She broke this apart," he said, picking up the handle of the demolished razor to show them, and then dropped it in again.

"There's blood on this," Buffy said grimly, noting the dried flakes on the edge of it.

"She's a cutter?" Cordelia asked, even though the evidence seemed to speak for itself.

"I told you," Buffy asserted to Angel. "No one from Galen's past has been any good. This girl is bad news," she paused, thinking over a few things. "Is this his blood?"

"No," Angel said. "It's definitely hers. And even if she is a cutter… that doesn't make her a bad person."

"No, but it makes her a bad influence," Buffy said, dropping the blade back into the trashcan. "I don't want her here anymore, Angel."

"Someone wants to kill her, Buffy," Angel reminded her, quietly. "But I'll talk to her about this. She can't be doing this kind of thing while she's here."

* * *

"Look at the light."

The light flashed again into his eyes, like a small blue-white beacon. Like a brightly burning star, very close to him. Close enough to touch. He reached out to grasp it, but he failed to move a single inch. He sat quietly instead.

"Follow it with your eyes."

He kept his focus on the bright light. He watched her watch his eyes dilate, reacting to the light. He saw the light. Spots on the sun. He didn't see her. He sat at the other side of the room, watching her examine himself. Lights, needles, cold hands, and sterile latex gloves. He saw it all now, underneath their harsh fluorescent lights. Liked the way the lamps screamed at him, flickering. No one noticed that.

Or the pool of blood that came out through his shirt. It was a really nice shirt, too, like some sort of Oxford blue thing that he could never see himself wearing. Literally. Only now, he could, because he was actually wearing it and had made a mess of it. There was no hole in the shirt, but he felt the hole in himself, and all of the blood seeping out. It made him sad and pained him emotionally more than physically. This was why he couldn't have nice things.

The lights flickered again, making the room go darker than it should. When he looked up, he realized he was sitting in an elevator, now. That was good.

"Why're you sitting on the floor, son?" some older man asked, dressed in a nice suit that wasn't bloody at all. He began to stand up. His legs felt weak, and the man pressed his hand on his shoulder, but he didn't fall down. "You really shouldn't bleed like that," the man added disapprovingly.

He straightened up beside the older man, and got the general impression that he wasn't going to be bleeding for a while. Things often worked like that, and there was nothing else to do but roll with it.

"Who're you?"

"Linwood. I own this little slice of pie," he said, meaning the world as it currently stood.

"Oh."

"What's your name, son?" Linwood asked in turn.

His mind drew a blank while the elevator rumbled in its descent to some unknown place. "I don't know," he answered, only knowing that it was the way things were, and it wouldn't change no matter how many buildings crumbled over time. "I guess that's what I forgot. That's why she killed me."

"That explains why you're here, then."

He glanced at Linwood. "Here? Where exactly is 'here?'"

"This is a one-way ticket to hell, son." The lights flickered again. "Everyone's got their own slice down there."

"Sounds good," he decided. His own slice.

"You must already be halfway there," Linwood added. "A man always forgets his name down there. Trust me, I've sent a few people to hell and dragged them back out in my lifetime. I dragged you out of the pit, once."

A dark shadow crawled across the ceiling, with a hungry maw and several sharp legs. It made his skin crawl, but he didn't look up. "Did you?"

"Certainly did," Linwood stated, matter-of-factly. "You're going to kill Angel."

"What's he done to me?"

"That's what you forgot, son. You forgot what a brutal monster he is. Angel is the devil incarnate, son, with the thin outward persona of a hero. Don't let that fool you for a second. I dragged you out of hell for one purpose and one purpose only. To let you remember what he's done to you. They both killed you, son."

"Both?"

"Angel and his whore," Linwood clarified. "They're the ones who prevented your old soul from going to heaven."

They gave him his slice.

The elevator shook as it plummeted endlessly. He stared out at the confining walls that made an inescapable cell. Nothing existed outside of this exact moment and place. He reached into the recesses of his thoughts and memories, but couldn't find anything particularly good about himself. "I don't think I'd ever go there anyway."

"Maybe not, but they stole away that chance. They stole your rest and piece of mind, son. A man's got to lay his bones to rest sometimes, you know."

"You stole my rest, too," he reminded Linwood, frowning. "You said you dragged me out of hell."

"That's right. And I'll do it again, because you won't be going to the bottom of this pit. You're going to return to the world and take a bite out of it. You're going to leave your mark. You're going to kill Angel. He's trying to send you _back_ to hell."

He didn't like the idea that someone was deliberately responsible for leaving him here. She'd killed him, but it was all Angel's ideas behind it, networking it into a web of treason. It was such thin webbing now that he could clearly see through it, and he knew that he was going to tear it wide open. Leave his mark.

"What do I have to do?"

A shadow formed at the corner of the elevator, just at the side of his peripheral vision. He noticed it, but didn't glance over at the new passenger.

"You don't belong here," the Other stated, empty white eyes boring into him from the shadows. "And you oughtn't be talking with him. You should come with me."

He looked at the Other now, unable to believe his audacity. "You threw me off a fucking building," he said, incredulousness in his voice. "Then you had me ripped apart by a lot of bloody spoaches."

"Don't give him all of the credit," Linwood interjected, but was ignored.

"I made you grow a pair, is all," the Other snapped back. "You killed 'em, didn't you?"

"He certainly did," Linwood said, pleased. "And what fine work, too."

"You've got to admit, that was fun," the Other said, tongue in cheek. "You loved the crunch, and the hot guts squeezing out through your fingers."

He lowered his head and breathed out slowly. "That's beside the point. You never bothered to lift a finger."

"You had it covered."

"A little back-up would have been welcome," he said heatedly. "I got them, but they got at me, too. They tore me up."

"If I'd have stepped in, then your victory would have been undermined. You wouldn't have had to fight for yourself. Get your hands really dirty. I know my boy, and that's what he likes. Likes to get his hands right in it."

The words gave him a buzz in the head until he realized what was really being said, and he shuddered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A heavy clap on his back made him suck in a breath. "No need to be modest here, boy!" Linwood declared. The elevator still jostled with its rapid, endless descent. "We're all killers here. We all understand."

"It's nice, isn't it?" the Other asked him. "The blood is so slippery and it damn near stains everything. You like to get your wicked fingers in it, into her, and that's all you need."

"That's not what I go for," he shuddered.

"That's all we've ever gone for." The Other stepped closer, standing in front of him. Despite being little more than a being of shadows, his hand was surprisingly real when he reached out to press his palm against the wound. "That's why she killed you."

He closed his eyes slowly and then opened them, but closed or open, he still saw the Other. He couldn't see his face, no matter how he looked. Just those fucking white eyes, and the hint of a smirk. And of something else. Something like… evil, reflecting in broken shards of glass.

The Other took his hand away, palm up so he could witness the blood. Witness it pool over his hand like mercury, droplet finding each other again. Watch the Other lift the hand and taste those droplets. Consume him. Become him.

"There's a sort of thrill to it all," Linwood said, with some sort of nostalgia and grandeur in his voice. "A rush of blood to the head. It's an intoxicating sense of power. You need all the power you can get, son. You've been on your back for too long. You think you've gotten better, but you're still on your knees. Soon you'll learn to stand, however, and you'll find an appreciation for death that you can't even fathom at the moment. Don't let her try to make you weak, or lower your defenses, because underneath all of the pretty looks and nice hair, all women are just whores. But they break so nicely when you grab them right. You'll like that, son, that crunch… it's better than those silly bugs you squashed. But that was a very nice start for you. A real turning point…"

While Linwood rambled on, the Other beckoned to him without movement or words. There was no other side to the elevator, only empty darkness. He saw the outer workings of the elevator shaft flash by for a second, and then there was nothing but open space. The Other stepped through, nearly melting away into the darkness, and he was compelled to follow, if only to escape Linwood's words.

* * *

"What do you think?" Buffy questioned after she'd locked the door, letting Angel look Galen over. The bed was clearly rumpled where she'd slept, but Galen had also noticeably shifted in his sleep. His head was turned the other way now, and his chest rose and fell, breathing now, if irregularly, and the sheets had fallen off of his chest.

"He's made progress," Angel agreed, approaching the bed. He gently peeled back the sheets and turned his childe onto his back so he could see which wounds had been reopened. Several of the larger gashes in his chest looked raw, and as if they're recently been split apart. There was a bit of blood around them that had very recently congealed, but it was the only real damage. A bit of cleaning and bandaging would patch that right up.

"Is this what happens?" Buffy asked, watching Angel tend to Galen. "With new vampires, I mean," she said, keeping her voice very low. "Do they get restless and stuff before they wake up?"

"I don't know," Angel admitted, keeping his hands busy on Galen. His childe looked so thin, so small. He was nothing like the strong, lean man he'd known before.

"How could you not know?" Buffy frowned at him skeptically.

"Vampires that are worth turning are always buried," Angel stated. "It keeps them safe. I've turned a number and just let them drop, but never stuck around to watch them turn. I was always too busy… doing other things."

"Like Darla?" Buffy quipped.

"Sometimes they were ripped apart by wild dogs," Angel added, ignoring Buffy. "It was funny."

The off-handed statement made her fall silent for a second. "You were a sick bunch," Buffy shook her head, unsure of what else to say.

"I imagine they get restless, though," Angel said. "Maybe it's the demon taking control, getting ready to wake up. Maybe it's just his muscles getting stronger, testing themselves."

"Is there a way to tell when he's about to wake up?" Buffy asked. "Because having a bloodthirsty, vampire version of Galen burst downstairs trying to bite people is not going to bode well."

"Only monitoring him closely." Angel gave her a somber look. "We're going to have to take care of him from now on. Break the blood lust out of him early, and get him onto animal blood. It won't be easy… mostly because they won't understand… but it will be necessary."

"How long do you think it will take for him to wake up?" Buffy questioned.

"With his wounds, it's hard to tell," Angel said. He slid onto the bed, moving to rest beside Galen and drew his childe's head into his lap. The fastest way to heal him would be to feed him again, and Galen was due for some more nourishment as it was. "Usually only a few days, but he might take up to a week."

"So he'll rise in a few more days," Buffy concluded. She shifted slightly, rubbing her arms. "Maybe we should tell Willow or someone in that time. Get her to give him a soul."

"You mean curse him," Angel corrected quietly. Buffy didn't speak. He bit into his wrist to draw blood, letting it spill into his childe's mouth. Each feeding brought him closer to Spike again. Made his childe a part of himself once more.

* * *

Thick, unbreathable air filled his lungs when he entered the new realm that he'd been led into. He hated it immediately. It wasn't just the filth, or even the stale, horrible stench of decaying flesh. It was _knowing_ that death lived here, and that he was somehow related to this place. Connected, underneath the skin to this horrible labyrinth of decay. He tried not to gag.

"You get used to it," the Other smirked at him, lactescent eyes gleaming in the dim light for a moment. The being turned away again, sucking in a deep breath as if to purposefully sicken his guest. "Mmm. Gotta love that rich smell. It's always unique, every single time. Like a good bottle of wine."

He tried to breathe to keep from getting sick, but every time he inhaled the scent made him even more nauseated. He tried looking at the walls as he slowly followed the Other. The wallpaper was old and shoddy, peeling off in strips that were rotten shades of green and yellow. The plasterboard beneath was smashed in places, revealing dark pits that led to other realms. The darkness within was so encompassing, with just bits of visible things inside, giving him a vague path to Elsewhere. His guide suddenly stopped, grabbing his shirt and refocusing his attention.

"Don't go in there," the Other warned him, surprisingly stern. "That's not what we're here for, and this is dangerous territory. Just keep up with me."

Dizzy, he complied, although the Other had an annoying tendency to blend into the dark places too well. They traveled through what felt like a long maze of crumbling walls, like Virgil leading Dante into hell.

"Nice metaphor," the Other commented, cutting into his thoughts. The intrusion into his private reflections deeply disturbed him, until he realized that he'd been led into a particular area that bled into other rooms. The sense of so much open space was unnerving. They stood in front of a closed door, which he knew would take them to a place more wretched than hell.

"Why are we here?"

"Never figured you one for existential thought. Now, I suggest we keep moving along. Those ones want to tear out your throat," the Other nodded towards an adjacent room. Several women crawled from the floor with predatory movement, their skin grey and sloughing off. "That would be a waste."

He stared at the gruesome flock, barely able to breathe. When he turned at a noise, he was dismayed to discover that his guide had already opened the door and was not so much descending the stairs as simply dispersing into the shadowy space. He was leaving him again, and it was starting to royally piss him off. A snarling rose and he quickly stepped into the stairwell, snapping the door shut. It thudded loudly behind him, shuddering in its frame. Loud screaming rose on the other side, followed by mad hammering and scratching.

He kept his hand pulled tight on the doorknob to keep them from twisting the door open, although it seemed they hadn't figured that out. He leaned his head closer to the door and it jerked in the frame again, thudding close to his ear. The jolt startled him, and he reflexively jerked away from the door, mentally kicking himself for being so scared. "Fuck off!" he yelled at them. The loud sound was little more than a comfort, but the noise drastically dropped outside. Staring at the door for a moment, he moved down the stairs, relieved to find that the walls and door seemed to melt away as he kept going.

"Nobody's up there anymore," he heard a familiar voice call up to him. He crept further downwards until he could see over the railing and then stepped off the stairs, staring at the room. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting greenish light over many bodies. Their glassy eyes followed him wherever he stood.

"Still think there's nobody down here?"

"Did I do this?" he breathed, suddenly aware of the scenario.

"No," the Other answered, shoving a corpse off of a chair so he could sit down. He propped his feet on her and lit a cigarette, like some conqueror. The Other breathed out bluish smoke, and it was all he could smell over the overpowering stench of death. "But he killed them all for you. Dumped them here over time to fester, then locked you down here and told you to have fun. Remember that? Have a look."

He saw what he suspected to be a shadow of himself at the other end of the room, trying to avoid the bodies. The skittering seemed to be set on a loop, and then there was a silent scream that he felt in his gut. The shadow started trying to break in the walls.

"Listen to me," the Other said, getting to his feet so he would have full attention. "Time doesn't stand still for any being, in any part of the Universe. It passes them by. Sometimes they come back, but it's never where they left off."

"When you're dead."

The Other shook his head. "Some things don't die. Not quite. They go to sleep. You're not dead, because the dead don't dream. You were passed by."

The walls flickered, barely able to remain substantial. A woman sat up from the floor, her naked skin just starting to turn blue. She cupped one milky breast protectively, the other one torn off by some savage device. She pushed her other hand between her legs as she sat up, spreading her thighs to him. '_It's better this way.'_

"Don't listen to her," the Other said calmly, reaching behind the chair.

A maggot writhed out of the corner of her eye like a tear, tumbling down her face as it freed itself.

He shook his head. "Is this real?"

The Other paused. "Well, some things aren't quite right, but as far as you're concerned, _yes_."

"I don't want to be here again."

"That's where it gets funny," the Other said, pulling an axe from behind the chair as he spoke. "Because you never were here. But now you think you are."

"This… this _happened_," he asserted. "I didn't just make this up."

"I don't quite understand it, myself. Sometimes we create false memories, out of necessity." The Other handed him the ax while the dead-eyed girl glared at him. "Bury it."

Her blue lips dropped open, a breath tumbling out like a hiss. _'Let me take you out of the world.'_

Galen swung the axe, and it connected with her skull with a crack.

* * *

Sarah jolted upright in her bed, gasping for breath. She clutched her chest for a second, readjusting to her human body, and then glanced around the room to ground herself. From what she had pulled out of Galen's head, there was no way he should have acted like that. She was trying to figure out who the hell had jacked Galen's dream stream when the door banged again.

"Let us in, Sarah," Angel voice came through the door.

"Open up, bitch," Buffy added.

"Buffy, no," Angel scolded lightly.

"I can kick down the door," Buffy said.

"Don't."

While they talked, Sarah slipped out of bed and quietly shimmied out of her pants down to her underwear. She ran her hands through her hair to tousle it, and then opened the door.

"What do you want?" Sarah asked coldly, inwardly amused when Angel was barely able to keep her eyes up. She switched her stance against the door, just to draw attention when her hips shifted.

"We need to talk to you," Buffy said.

* * *

"It was just a thing," Sarah asserted.

"A thing," Buffy repeated. "A thing that kills people everyday."

"And saves people," Sarah retorted, staring up at Buffy from where she sat. "Some people do it so they _won't_ kill themselves. But of course, you wouldn't stop to consider that."

Buffy bit her lip for a second and tried to change her tune. "Look, I don't care that you do it. I don't care how you do it, or when, or why. I care that you're doing it _here_. You don't need to be butchering yourself when I have – a _boyfriend_ upstairs who's been close to engaging in the same activity."

"I'm sorry that you don't like reality," Sarah said quietly. "I can't _change_ it for you. But… I can… I could do better while I'm here," she added quietly.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, trying really hard to relax about it. "If you have issues or something, you really should just talk to someone."

"That's right," Fred agreed. "Take all of that energy of finding a razor blade and… find a person instead," she said awkwardly.

"I can't promise miracles," Sarah said. "But I'll stop." She took a deep breathe and let it out, shaking her head. "You're right. You're right, I just don't… it's just as addicting as anything else in this world, you know. But it always upset Galen. I don't want him to be upset with me."

Buffy's throat tightened again as the girl mentioned being with Galen. "You should probably just leave. Before he wakes up."

"As far as I know, I still have some demon people hunting me down or something," Sarah reminded her. "Has that been handled?"

"No," Angel admitted. "We don't know enough yet to go on anything. So this would be the time where we covered that."

"Sure," Sarah tried to look honest. "I'm an open book. What do you want to know?"

"Why someone wants you dead," Angel replied.

* * *

"They're already dead," Galen pointed out, a little disappointed in this as he paused. There were still so many bodies. Possibly more than before. As he axed, the pieces sometimes disappeared. They still stared at him, and occasionally one would move very slowly.

"Would you prefer live ones?" the Other asked, stepping across a pile of the corpses. He went to the highest point possible, which wasn't very high, and stood on top of them, grinning gleefully even if Galen couldn't see it. It was such a sham, because Galen knew he didn't have any real mass.

"Not really," Galen admitted, finding the idea of ax-murdering live people a bit distasteful. Dead people were easier to blame.

"Then isn't this fun?" the Other questioned, bouncing on the bodies. He jumped down, almost knee-deep, kicking wrists and heads out of his way as he walked aimlessly. "This is quality bonding, G. You don't just come across someone like me. A real _soul mate_. Damnit, G, I _am_ you. We drive the spikes. We crucify the nonbelievers. We _tear_ out their hearts just to taste and touch the darkness. Damnit, Will, we _are_ the darkness. We consume the darkness."

Galen watched one of those hungry maws scurry across the floor. It latched onto a bit of severed flesh near him and started to tear at it. He slammed his foot down, crushing the spoach under his heel. "Really not seeing the appeal."

"Like hell," the Other retorted. Galen smirked and decided to wade into the corpses. He mostly just pushed through, but when they tangled or tried to grab his legs, he kicked them in the heads and listened to the brittle bones crack.

"Tell me, if we're so alike, who are you?"

The Other paused to smile at him, white eyes somehow conveying the amusement. "I'm you."

"Right," Galen agreed. "That's starting to really get on my nerves, you never telling it to me straight." His feet snagged again, even when he tried to lift his feet to step over the obstructing body. He stepped back to take a good stance and then swung the ax again, severing an arm, which curled away like a wounded vine. He joined the Other, then, without resistance.

"It's not my fault you've got no clue who you are," the Other said. "It's just something you're gonna have to get over."

"Which one can I get the answers out of?" Galen asked, knowing he never would.

"That one," the Other decided, pointing out a corpse that had been left rotting for so long there was nothing recognizable left.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

The Other went forward to salvage the corpse from amongst the piles, dragging it up and lifting the droopy head to look into the wet eye sockets. The bones barely stuck together with what cartilage there was left, and the skin was all but dripping off. It raised a horrible stench to be moved, but by now, it only gave the air a different flavor for Galen. This was just stronger, somewhat sweeter, and more aged.

"What a handsome devil," the Other admired, cupping the slack bottom jaw and lifting it so the exposed teeth closed together. It made him smile, and he did it again, and then carefully walked over to Galen like a six year old child, to show off his prize. "Isn't he beautiful?" he asked, holding up the corpse so that Galen had to look at it.

"Even the spark is burned out," Galen murmured, although the Other's amusement with the body almost made him smile. The others weren't quite dead somehow, but this one was beyond gone.

"Ah. Time passes by," the Other said. He closed up the bottom jaw again. "Give us a kiss."

Galen shook his head for a moment, and then changed his mind and leaned forward anyway, brushing his lips against the skull's exposed teeth. He slowly breathed in the stagnant, fetid breath, and then bit off a piece of the putrid flesh when he pulled away. He held it between his teeth for a second and then spit it out.

The Other cooed appreciatively, swooping away with the corpse. "Sweet romances, William. Sweeter still with death."

"He tasted sweet."

"_Mmm_," the Other chuckled under his breath. Galen didn't want to know what he was doing with the corpse. He was busy staring at a girl whose hair had begun to fall out, along with the skin that had been holding onto those particular locks.

"_I've never known a girl like you before_," the Other sang. Somehow, Galen had been thinking it. "Go ahead and do her."

"What's your pleasure?" Galen asked flippantly, quirking a brow as he lifted his ax. Her lips parted as he did so, like she was taking in a silent, meaningless breath.

"Break her clavicle," the Other suggested after a moment, curiosity in his voice. "Break it all open, and then pry it apart. Tell me how her lungs look peering through her shoulder."

Galen considered this for a second and then swung his ax, which stuck soundly through her shoulder, shattering the clavicle. He wiggled the handle and pulled it out while she gasped. "So time doesn't stand still."

"Nope," the Other agreed, preoccupied with the corpse. He moved his hands over the rotted flesh, inches from contact while he focused. He heard the ax strike again and bones crunch as Galen pried them apart. The old corpse shifted as he did his work, attempting to rekindle the spark that had been long since snuffed out. He heard Galen hack at the body again, and then a while of near silence, only broken by the sound of something slick, and the dead girl gasping. "How does it look?"

"Kind of… red," Galen decided, pulling harder to keep the wedges of her body open so he could check inside. "Red, like muscle."

"How does it feel?" the Other asked, propping up the old corpse to look at him. The spark didn't seem to be taking.

Galen paused a bit at that and then promptly slipped his fingers into the bloodless wound, followed by the rest of his hand. "A little slick," he said. There was a pause. "Hollow."

"Interesting," the Other said. He squinted at the corpse and then backed away from it, without taking his sight off of the bones. "Tell me a story, old man."

The corpse remained montionless.

"He doesn't care about stories," Galen said, which surprised the Other.

"Why not?"

"He's told a million," Galen replied. He lifted his ax yet again and struck it into the same girl, determined to rip apart the chest cavity and see if it really was just hollowness inside. "Nobody listens, nobody cares."

"We want to listen," the Other said, only half addressing the corpse, while he still watched Galen.

"We already know his stories," Galen said, freeing his ax to strike her again. She gasped, still drawing in whisper-soft breaths like a fish without water.

"Enlighten us."

"There is a source for all sources. There is a thread for every being. There is an end for all ends," the ax struck again. "There is a time for every place, and a place for every time, and as many as there are that can be known or imagined, there are infinitely more that cannot."

The Other snorted and looked at the corpse. "Is that the best you can come up with? Seriously? I've heard better words of wisdom from teenage girls."

"I told you." Galen stopped and dropped the ax, crouching down beside the girl to pry her open. She still tried to gasp for breath, even when he nearly pulled apart her ribcage. He stopped to stare, watching her lungs and heart work slowly, like an echo of life, yet he saw nothing. There was nothing to see. "We already knew his stories."

* * *

Darkness swarmed around his sight. His body felt painfully heavy, or possibly just painful. He was in a new realm, he realized, and he didn't like it. There was even less here than there had been previously.

A wave of nausea and dread swept over Galen and he tried not to shudder as he sat up. His skin was bare, and aside from the sheets and mattress that told him he was in a bed, he had no contextual clues as to where he was. Everything was hollow.

_You're supposed to kill him, remember?_

He remembered. He didn't remember why. His hands were empty, and his body was nude, defenseless. Weak.

_Why are you **wasting** our time? You could beat the life out of him_.

He moved to get up, just get away. Everything that had run so smoothly before was churning in retrograde, undoing what it had told him. There was no spark, no life, no meaning. No power, no life, but there was death.

He tried to judge where the mattress ended but got it wrong, and he slipped instead. His nose cracked against something hard before his hit the floor, banging his head as he landed. The table wasn't supposed to be so close. Now there was nothing and an overwhelming amount of nothing. The first taste of his own blood churned his stomach and he retched towards the floor, only managing to purge a small amount of something warm and not at all solid.

He wiped his hands on the sheet that he'd managed to take down with him, and then clutched at it as he tried to sit up. Tried to cover himself. His existence hurt. Everything moved against him, to hurt him, and it wasn't even fun. When he did lift his head, a woman was staring at him. He could tell it was a woman, at least, from the shape of what was left of her body. She was rotting away, with something live squirming in her blank eye sockets. He tried not to look there, for fearing of discovering what it was. She wasn't the fun kind of corpse. She moved too much. He didn't have an ax. It just wasn't going to work. He needed to kill her so bad, just to make her go away. He would split her head open to make all of those nasty living things pour out. They were evil and polluted everything. Made the dead dance again.

Galen set his jaw, even as she came closer, tangles of brown hair the only thing left that was remotely beautiful.

_Come on, precious,_ she purred wordlessly. Just a fetid breath in the air. _You know there's beauty in death_.

"Not as far as you're concerned," he muttered, the words barely leaving his lips.

_Have a taste_, she dared him, and he snapped his teeth at her, which made her laugh. The maggots in her brain writhed, dropping off of her and onto his sheet. He jerked away from it, but an outpouring of the nasty things started to flood out, and there was no way to escape it. Something snapped inside of him and before he was aware of what he was doing, he was trying to physically crack her head apart on the floor, as if that would stop the maggots. He didn't care to stop, convinced that it would work, but it felt like hitting a rotten bit of fruit, and he kept sinking into nothing. The maggots got onto him and started to creep across his skin. He finally let go of her, but no matter how he brushed at them, they wouldn't come off.

* * *

"Demons have been known before to go after families," Wesley suggested. They were still trying to figure out a reason why Sarah had been targeted for an attack. "Perhaps the issue isn't so much with our victim as it is her family's past."

They paused to look at Sarah, but she seemed a little distant.

"Sarah?" Fred asked delicately.

"Do you remember if there were any strange things about your parents?" Angel asked her. "Maybe they suddenly gained wealth, or they sacrificed their first born. Stuff like that?"

She remained silent, staring off as if lost in thought. There was suddenly a thump from upstairs, and she looked upwards, the first time she had moved in about a minute.

"What was that?" Fred asked after a second, looking at Angel, Buffy, then Wesley, and back up at the balcony.

There was another sound, a more clearly defined slam, as if someone had hit a wall, or a door. A wordless scream made Buffy's blood curdle and then there was another heavy slam that reverberated throughout the building.

There was something heavy about the shout that made Buffy's breath hitch with stress even before she saw Galen on the balcony. He looked distraught, and there was blood, and she couldn't look. "It's DEAD! It's all DEAD! THERE IS NO SPARK!"

"Angel," Buffy said, trying to cut over Galen's shouts, mixed with mumbles.

Angel immediately rose and went to the stairs.

"Why do won't you STAY STILL?! You always take… just taking away. You snuffed it out!"

Buffy looked at the others anxiously. "Angel's going to take care of it. Can we…?"

"Don't you want to go help Angel, Buffy?" Fred suggested quietly, trying to block out anything she'd heard. It didn't make any sense to her, but to hear the pain in his voice made her throat tighten. "I think that he needs you… Galen, that is."

Buffy wet her lips nervously. "In a second," she said. "I'll just let Angel quiet him down."

Sarah looked at Buffy. "Why is he so afraid?"

"He's… he's going to take some time to adjust," Buffy said quietly, trying to remember to breathe. The hardest thing to do was to sit still when she wanted nothing more than to go running upstairs and find out what was wrong, and to hold him. "He almost died," she said. _He did die…but he was only sleeping, and Angel woke him up_. "He needs a lot of rest."

"Will he be okay?" Sarah asked.

Buffy almost smiled because of how sincere Sarah sounded, but the overwhelming want to cry stopped her. Her mind kept screaming that he would never be fine. He was never going to breathe or walk in the sunlight again. He was never going to be so damn innocent. But at the same time, she didn't have to worry about him dying. She and Angel were going to watch after him. He wasn't going to be sick or hurt anymore. The dead didn't get any closer to death.

Just as her mind tried to close in on solace, there was a yell from upstairs. Buffy turned in time to see Galen grab Angel and slam him to the railing. There was barely any time for Angel to correct the situation, for in the next instant, Galen pushed him over the edge. Buffy's entire being felt frozen as she helplessly watched Angel fall. He hit the floor with a sickening thud, head cracking against the tiles and sending his world into blackness. She looked back up at the balcony in a daze, watching Galen move away from the railing.

"Dead," she heard him mutter. His back hit the opposite wall and he slid down, out of sight.

"Oh, God, Angel," Cordelia gasped, quickly moving to go help him, but he wasn't moving.

Buffy still stared at the empty balcony, terrified. Her world was tearing itself apart and this time she had no idea how she was going to fix it.


	27. Convalescence

**A/N: Writer's block really sucks... I couldn't touch this story at all for 4 months. So if anything seems _off_, just try to let it go. **

**I missed you all a lot and I wanted to get something out in time for my birthday. Well, I missed that by two days, but w/e. This is for you all, anyway. Now I just have to struggle to start the next chapter. :)**

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* * *

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The maggots wouldn't come off of his skin. He was starting to claw at himself, but it was of no use. He stumbled to stand, but his world was still a void of darkness and vague light. She was the only thing he could see, besides those sick, squirming parasites.

_'Which means that she isn't REAL, you stupid sod.'_

Galen raised his head to glare at the Other, who was being, yet again, completely useless. "This is real." A maggot tumbled off of his skin, making him jump at the sensation and start clawing again. The other ones clung harder.

_'Sure,' _the Other rolled his eyes. He looked at the hell-bitch, who was being serendipitously unwatched by Galen and was gathering herself. The stupid git was going to get his ass nailed in another five seconds._ 'You got maggots or leeches clinging to you, now?'_

The maggots started to turn black. "Shut the fuck up," Galen said, alarmed.

The Other just laughed, a mirthless sound, almost pitying, but did nothing to help relieve Galen.

The slick, black bodies twisted like shapeless lumps. Voids puncturing reality, puncturing through his being. He closed his eyes, and realized there was no difference. The squirming was still the same, and the voids were still there, wiggling in his mind. "_It's not real_," he gritted up, the impact of it all to much too bear. "_Not real, not…._"

"Spike."

Something about that single spoken word made him open his eyes. There was nothing anymore, except the floor underneath him. Not sure how he got there, but he could hear a breath close to him, very real. He could touch his knees, naked but for thin sheets that he wrapped himself into. Real. He briefly felt his arms, bare, but sore and still unclean underneath the skin. He smelled little more than blood.

He focused on the breath again, the presence of another person, and they sounded distressed. There was a commotion almost… below him. All real now. All very tangible. He let himself still completely, more motionless than stone, just listening to the little noises that would have been imperceptible otherwise.

'Angel_…_wakeup_…_Wesley.'

He rested his chin on his clasped hands, listening to the sounds below, but they almost seemed to be a mixture of meaningless noise. There was an undercurrent of anxiety, but he wasn't sure if it was paranoia stirring in his bones, or if he was actually picking up on the mood in the voices. There was a wide feeling of space. It made him feel vulnerable, because at the same time he knew he was being watched.

Buffy watched Galen, unsure of what to do or say. She expected a scene. She expected a blood-thirsty vampire to hold down. She hadn't expected to find him just… sitting there, naked, bloodied and bruised, almost curled into himself. Lost. Staring off vacantly, as if only half observing what was going on, unable to compute. Sure, he couldn't see, but she knew well enough that he got along fine without it. He certainly knew that she was beside him, because he tilted his chin towards her, somehow showing that he was giving his full attention to her, listening intently.

"What's wrong?"

Buffy's stomach clenched, her blood chilling for a second. It was as if nothing had occurred. Genuine concern under laid his voice, but he was somehow oblivious to what he'd just done, or the repercussions of the moment.

"You're not well," Buffy told him. It was all she could do to hold the tremble out of her voice. His arms were mottled with large bruises, as were his legs, ribs, neck and any other scrap of skin that she could see. The dark blues, purples, and transitional yellows made him an unbelievably colorful and morbid display. It had to be incredibly painful, but if it was, it didn't show. He had to be in shock.

"Spike," Buffy said again, and then shook her head, catching herself. "Galen… You're hurt."

His brow crinkled slowly, confused about something. "What is that?"

Buffy couldn't begin to imagine what he might be hallucinating, and had no time to speculate. "You need to sleep, Galen."

"I sleep so much," Galen mumbled, his voice full of regret. Buffy gently pulled him to his feet, wary of putting pressure on any bruises.

"And you're gonna need some more. You're wounded right now."

"I don't feel wounded."

"That's even more concerning," Buffy said, brow creasing with some distress. "Trust me, it'll set in soon. Better to get you off your feet right now."

She led him down the hallway, quickening her pace when someone shouted her name.

"They need your help," Galen told her, turning his head as Buffy fumbled with the door.

"You need my help," Buffy said. "Because you're still alive, and you need to stay that way."

"Someone died?"

She should've known he would pick up on the underlying meanings of her words. "No. What I mean is, nobody's dying except…."

"Me," he finished, confused. He felt a little fuzzy, but definitely not on the brink of death. But come to think of it, he didn't feel good at all when they slipped further into the room.

"You're going to be fine," Buffy promised him, pushing him towards the bloodstained bed, keeping her hands at his waist to ensure the modest sheet didn't slip. The sight of the room made her feel a little sick. Splashed pools of blood stained the floor and nightstand, marking the room and making it into something terrible. Somehow, it seemed that just his staying there had made it a fragment of whatever mental space he was trapped in. Another testimony to his world that she could actually see.

"What happened here?" Buffy whispered, not sure she wanted to know.

"I… sort of had…" Galen started slowly, but was stopped by her hands, soft but firmly pressing on his bare shoulders. It made him acutely aware of his undressed state.

"It's okay," Buffy said. "It doesn't matter. Just lay down."

"There were things," Galen added quietly, already knowing that there was no way to talk to her about what he thought he'd seen. He didn't even know where to begin, and didn't want to.

"You're safe here," Buffy assured him, ushering him to sit down on the edge of the bed. He slowly, but easily maneuvered himself so that he could lie down and draw up the sheets that he'd wound himself into. They were, understandably, bloodstained as well, and as he shifted to make himself comfortable, it finally became apparent that he _was_ in pain, and the extensive bruising made it extremely hard to rest properly.

When he did find a relatively comfortable side to rest on, he sank against the sheets slowly, still very tense but realizing that he needed the rest. He felt Buffy's hand smooth over his chest, hitching the sheet up into place. The next thing he knew, she was retreating away and towards the door.

As soon as Buffy's hand fell on the knob, Galen sat straight up, the sheets she'd just placed higher spilling down into his lap. The bruises on his chest had a startling contrast on his chest, which was normally as pale as ivory. The position of the sheets revealed the sharp curve of his hip, and came so close to revealing other things. Things that she shouldn't let her mind wander to, because it convoluted the imagery she had in her head when he pleaded with her, "Please don't leave."

Buffy blinked slowly, regretfully, trying not to let herself give in to his confused look, but it was tearing at her heart.

"I have to take care of some things," Buffy told him. "But I'll be back in, I promise. Try to go to sleep."

He didn't even budge, knowing that sleep would be impossible. "There are things in here," he told her, but he suspected that he hadn't actually managed to say anything, because she slipped out of the room without further hesitation.

* * *

"Is everything okay down here?" Buffy blurted out, quickly heading down the stairs to join the Angel Comfort Crew that had seemed to assemble. She and Fred wore matching expressions of grave concern, but Buffy was relieved that Angel was conscious at least.

"Okay?" Cordelia repeated. "Buffy, your boyfriend dropped my boyfriend off of the _balcony_."

Angel sat with an ice pack pressed to his head, and lifted an eyebrow when Cordelia said the word 'boyfriend' for the second time. As soon as he did, however, he grimaced in pain, which lead to more pain, and let his face go lax to rid himself of that pain. "Boyfriend?" he asked.

Cordelia turned around quickly, turning clasping her fingers in turn. "Yes, Angel. And my name is Cordelia. Cor-de-lia."

There was a paused while Angel shook his head, closing his eyes for a second. "Cordy, I do know who you are."

"You do?" Cordelia asked, sounding hopeful at first. "Shit," she whimpered under her breath and turned back to the slayer. "Buffy, if your boyfriend is going to go around spreading his amnesia, he should at least do it _effectively_. It's only, you know, polite to the rest of us."

"I'll be sure to mention that," Buffy said, with a little frown creasing her face.

"How is he?" Angel asked under his nonexistent breath, trying not to let his pain cloud his concern for his childe.

"Obviously out of his gourd," Wesley said.

"He's just scared," Buffy said quietly. "I don't think he knew where he was, or who Angel was. I should get back to him, actually. Are you going to be okay?"

Angel looked a little sheepish. "Could I have some more Tylenol?"

"I've got a whole drawer full," Cordelia said, eager to share in her wealth of painkillers. She rushed off and dug through said drawer for all of half a second, whisking out a bottle of pills with great show. She popped the lid as she came back to Angel, and dumped half of the bottle, it seemed, into her hand.

Wesley crooked an eyebrow at the dosage. "I believe two is the fair amount."

"Fair shmare," Cordelia retorted. "This'll be just fine, as long as we don't keep doping him up very hour. Besides, it's not like vampires can get stoned, right?"

"I'm quite certain they can," Wesley contradicted.

"Well, it's better than having a splitting headache," Cordelia pointed out.

"I'll take my chances," Angel decided, accepting the almost unreasonably large amount of medicine.

"I'm not getting involved in this," Buffy said, with some humor in her voice. "I'll go keep an eye on the wounded one."

Buffy started walking towards the stairs again, and Cordelia called after her, "Then I'll be sure to keep the bottle out for when he drops you over the balcony, too."

Buffy considered this as she mounted the stairs, wincing at the distance that grew between herself and the floor. Angel had to be in considerable pain, but he wasn't mentioning it. "Thanks, but I don't think I'll be back down tonight," she responded thoughtfully.

* * *

Galen was still sitting up anxiously when she returned, but more huddling into himself once again. He turned his head towards her once again, ears perking towards the sound of her entry. She paused shortly after stepping into the room, slowly closing the door behind her until it latched.

There was a heavy feeling to the room, as if another presence were filling the space, and she was immediately reminded of how it had felt when Spike was being haunted by the First. She would leave for only short intervals and he would be drastically changed by the time she came back into the room, as if an entire conversation had been carried out that she missed entirely. And of course, she had.

Another thing she noticed was that she was growing accustomed to Galen's new way to paying attention to her – that his head tilted as if to listen to her as clearly as possible, rather than eyes following her.

"Is there anyone else in this room?" Buffy asked, keeping her voice very serious, but she wasn't completely positive that Galen would follow anyway.

"Just you," he said quietly. Aside from persistent shadows, there truly was not anyone left in the room. Even the Other had melded away into the walls, and wasn't coming back out for a long while. There were still things lurking underneath the shadows, but when Buffy came into the room, she was like a light he could see that drove them all away.

Buffy glanced around the room again and then went closer to the bed. Galen quickly scooted himself away, making a wide gap of room for her to lie down.

"Please… Stay with me for a while? I promise, I'll be good."

Buffy looked at him for a moment. He seemed so fragile, yet his skin was a patchwork of bruising and injury and he was not broken. His blood stained the sheets, but it was not filthy to her. She put her hand to the mattress and climbed onto it, sitting against the pillows at first.

Galen felt the bed sink beneath her weight, and waited for a moment, then slid a hand out until it touched her side. He mentally gauged the distance between them and made sure that it was sufficient, so she would not feel that he was any threat to her. He sank down into the covers, then, careful to make sure that he was wrapped up in his sheets as much as possible, so as to be as inoffensive as he could manage.

"You don't have to-"

"Spike," Buffy cut him off gently, but firmly. "I'm not going anywhere. Go to sleep." She didn't catch her mistake this time, so reminded of her last days spent around him, with the ghost of the First hovering around them at all times. Her presence alone could not stop the ghosts from coming, but she stopped them from taking any hold over Spike, and that was what mattered most of all.

* * *

"It truly is miraculous that he's recovered," Wesley said. "Although, perhaps a little too miraculous."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sarah questioned.

"Miraculous? Willow was working her mojo on him, Wes," Cordelia reminded him. "It just means we're fortunate to have her on our team."

"I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, Wes," Gunn said. "Just count your blessings and move on."

"Perhaps," Wesley sighed. "You know I can't rest at that, however. The amount of damage-"

"He's not one hundred percent," Angel spoke up, angry and becoming defensive. "Just because he woke up doesn't mean he's magically healed. It just means that Willow managed to heal him _enough_."

"You heard how _loony_ he was when he came out," Cordelia said. "Obviously she didn't heal him right."

"It was reflexive," Fred argued in Galen's defense. "He woke up with no reference to where he was. For all he knew, he was still inside Wolfram and Hart. He was going to defend himself by any means."

"That's what I'm saying," Angel agreed.

"And I'm saying, he was very able-bodied for one who nearly died," Wesley said. "To get a leg up on you-"

"My guard was down," Angel said. "And I don't think he was actually all that close to death. Whatever they did to him must've worn off."

"Either that or it took effect," Wesley countered. "They could have just as easily _changed_ him somehow."

Angel didn't like the emphasis on change. It struck all too close to home. Then again, if they believed Wolfram and Hart had done it, he would still be off the hook.

"What sort of change do you mean?" Sarah asked.

"Do you think they could have made him into some sort of a cyborg?" Angel wondered, striking out initial sarcasm with heavily faked wonder.

Cordelia picked up on the idea immediately. "And then they could program him to go all Terminator on you."

"That's just what I was thinking," Angel agreed quickly.

"Oh, God," Cordelia said, as she realized it was entirely possible. "I hope to the Powers That Be that he's not. Because the last thing I want to do is to have to tell Xander Harris he was right all along."

"If he's dangerous, maybe we should warn that woman who's with him," Sarah suggested.

"No," Angel quickly shot down the idea. "Buffy can handle herself. If he were dangerous, we'd know about it by now."

"I'm sure she wouldn't want to run the risk," Sarah said, eager to pry away Galen as much as she could.

"Then you don't know anything about Buffy," Cordelia concluded. "After all she's done to get him, she's not going to leave him now."

Sarah lowered her eyes, considering this. "I hope for her sake she doesn't live to regret that."

* * *

"Hello, Satan."

He spoke quietly, almost unwillingly. It was hard to bring himself back to this place, that smelled of antiseptics and ammonia.

Rachel pressed her hand against the cold glass, making a silhouette against the light coming through the window. She looked at the rays of yellow light from between her splayed fingers, slowly scrunching her brow, as if thinking in a daze. "It's too early for visiting hours," she stated.

"Actually, visiting hours are almost over," Eamon corrected. "Fortunately, I'm not visiting."

Rachel whipped her head around, her eyes filled with venom, it seemed. "Do you think I really care? It's not like they ever _do_."

Eamon took a half step to avoid her clenched fists. "Don't go there."

"Why shouldn't I _go there?_" Rachel seethed. "Addison's probably _dead_ and Scotty is _gone_. And where does that leave me?"

"Alone in the nuthouse?" Eamon guessed quietly, glancing at some of the other residents, but they were all deadly focused on their mild forms of entertainment, or in some delusional fit of their own.

"Where I always am," Rachel finished. "I get _nowhere_. No one comes back for me. I'm yesterday's news. Just waiting to be shoved into one of those pits." She paused, shuddering fractionally as she stared off at something else, and then crooked her head and looked at him. "But you're here."

"I came back for you," Eamon said quietly. "So get up and back your things, before I decide to leave you here."

"Did you find G?" Rachel wondered, moving towards Eamon slowly.

Eamon tucked his chin down and covered his eyes with one hand, slowly rubbing at his brow until the threat of emotion passed. He tried not to think about what could be happening to Galen while he was here with Satan. "No. I didn't." He straightened himself up, giving Rachel a hard look. "You need to pack your crap and go before I decide to leave you here."

* * *

Sarah locked the door tightly behind her, leaning her back against her when it was closed and listening for a moment. The floor was silent, and she could hear the humans and the vampire stirring downstairs, but apart from that she was effectively blinded for the moment, with a range of senses not much better than any other basic life form.

Her human visage was holding up just fine. The illusion of time restraints was what was making her worry now. Usually she had all the time in the world to slowly leech off of her victim. They didn't typically put up such a strong fight, or regain such strength.

Sarah moved away from the door and went to the bed in the center of the room. She crawled onto the mattress, heedless of anything around her as she settled into a stable position, legs folded. On the surface, nothing appeared to happen, and nothing did happen for several hours yet. Her body slowed down into a suspended state, pulse and breath slowing down impossibly. Everything else in the hotel was winding down like a clock, moving ever slower, until the hand brushed past midnight and seconds slowed down into minutes.

Her eyes opened, then, and she moved from the bed in her snakeskin, following an umbilical trail that connected her to her current source of energy.

Galen was as weak as she had initially believed, his head tucked against the slayer's side. It was such a weak comfort, and a primitive belief that physical proximity could actually protect either of them from attack. It seemed that humans had a strong tendency to run off and hide under the covers every time the darkness scared them. It was truly a wonder how they had managed to become the conquerors of the world. Maybe they were just the vermin.

Sarah sank onto the bed, spreading her nails out over the bed sheets and tracing droplets of blood. She leant over Galen, close enough to sink her teeth into his flesh, and diverted her attention to one of those spots of blood, licking at the dried residue. It tasted like rust and salt, and gave a teaser of what was to come. "Still delicious," she murmured, pressing a thoughtful talon against her lips, still licking at the ghost of a flavor.

"Does it get you off?"

The sudden intrusive voice made Sarah hiss in surprise and displeasure, twisting her body to glare at the figure that had spoken. She already knew that nothing else should be on the same plane as her, unless the crafty witch had managed to figure out what was going on and cast a spell.

"Don't hide in the shadows so much," she called out, taunting the one who was taunting her, the dim glow of eyes all that she could presently see. "It's very rude to those who wish to kill you."

"Audacious tongue for a lowly demon whore," he murmured, rising out from the shadows, but they dragged along with him, as if they were part of his entity.

"You," Sarah swung her leg off of the bed, pausing as she observed the shadow being's path, but he stopped and would not come any closer to her. "A ghost of a shadow. I know you. You've been the one wriggling into his ear at night. You've been _whispering_ to him, haven't you? _Haven't you?_"

"He knows you," the shadow spoke. It infuriated Sarah, how it spoke with a tongue crafted of it's own device. Or did he?

"Who raised you?" Sarah questioned, ignoring the subtle threat towards her.

"I've been here," the shadow replied, taking a defensive.

"Who raised you?" She came off the bed, slowly drifting towards him. "What powers, what words, what _witch?_ He calls you his Other."

"He speaks to imaginary leeches," the shadow countered, but Sarah was not listening to him at all anymore. She had already figured it out.

"You are him. You are his Other. The Other half. Just energy."

"You leave him alone," the Other growled at her. When she moved closer, his retreat gave him away.

"You should worry about yourself," Sarah snarled, lunging forward.

* * *

Kennedy woke up to a thrash of limbs, the bed quaking underneath her. She sat up reflexively and turned on the nightstand lamp first, bathing the room in a wash of faded yellow light. Willow's body spasmed on the bed, limbs and muscles contorting uncontrollably.

"Willow," Kennedy said, sitting up on the bed and leaning over her girlfriend. "Willow!" she touched the redhead's shoulders, but the seizures were so strong that even her strength could not hold Willow still. She pressed a hand against Willow's face and yelled again, watching desperately for Willow's eyes to find her, but she found only whites.

"What is this?" Kennedy whispered, recoiling somewhat in her own terror, and searing pain that was coiling up her leg, but she refused to leave Willow's side. She searched over their bed for any signs of demonic or mystical influences, but could find none. When she heard someone running through the hall, she quickly scrunched up the blankets and pillows around Willow's head, trying to offer support. She couldn't remember what else she was supposed to do.

The footsteps stopped at the doorway, which opened half a second later with a little gasp from Dawn. "Th-there was yelling," she explained, diverting her eyes cautiously for a few seconds until she realized that Willow was shaking. "What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know," Kennedy said. "Call 911."

* * *

**_Dramatic cliffhanger outrage? Missed me? Review plz._**


	28. Necrotic

**A/N: Hi guys! **

**It's been months, so I tried to make this chapter really worthwhile. I didn't get to reply to all of the reviews last time so THANK YOU for all of the encouragement and feedback. \O/**

**I hack out a story every week on my LJ so check my profile for the comm link if you are interested in that, or just as a way to harass me to write more chapters. Summer is coming, and I hope it will give me more energy and inspiration to kick up the notch on this story and get it done.**

* * *

It was the screaming that woke him up. Some ghastly screeching, sharp and overwhelming in his head. His hands flew to end it, cracking all of the spindly bodies, mutated creatures tearing at him. The broken shells became broken bones, and he tried to still himself but it was too late. They were all broken now, some pitiful whimpering in the distance, and hot blood cooling on his face.

"Spike?" Buffy whispered, sitting up beside him, cautious as the man trembled. She caught her slip too late, slowly sucking in her bottom lip and biting at it nervously, hoping he was still too shaken from his dream to notice or understand. "Galen? You're awake. You're safe."

"I'm bleeding," he said, a tremor evident in his voice.

Buffy frowned, looking over his bruised and scabbed body for a second before she watched him touch the hotness on his face, fingers shaking.

"No," she said softly, reaching out to wipe away his tears. "You're fine."

"I hurt someone."

"Angel's okay," Buffy assured him. "He was more worried about you."

"He shouldn't worry about me," Galen said, his entire body aching with every slight breath. He put a hand to his head, trying to will away the images at the back of his head. "I think there's something wrong with me."

"That's why we worry," Buffy stated cautiously.

"What if… I'm bad?" Galen questioned. A gargantuan moment of silence dragged out, where Buffy was unsure of what to say. "What if whoever I am, or was, it's just bad?"

"It doesn't matter," Buffy said. "Because that isn't who you are now."

What if it is? Galen wanted to say, but was too afraid. What if I don't want to change it? But he wasn't entirely sure that he didn't, and either way, the words wouldn't come out.

Buffy leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his forehead. When she pulled away, his eyes were clamped shut, jaw tight and muscles twitching.

"Lay down," she told him, stroking his hair. "You already look like a black-and-blueberry."

She waited for him to lie down, and slipped out of the bed with the promise to bring back some food. She quietly left the room, knowing he wouldn't sleep easily, but hoping that her presence would calm him at least. It was when she came downstairs and saw the expressions on her friends' faces that she knew something had happened.

"What? What is it?"

Cordelia lowered her eyes for a moment. "Willow's in the hospital."

"What happened?" Buffy questioned, her face turning white with worry.

"We're not sure," Cordelia admitted. "But we didn't want to leave, you know, without you. I know Willow's your best friend, and you'd want to be there."

"Is it… bad?" Buffy asked, unsure of what to think. Images of her mother's death plagued her. It was something she never wanted to go through again.

"We're not sure," Cordelia repeated, wishing she could be more helpful.

"And they took her to that hospital?"

"A different one," Angel told her. "It would be too risky to go back to Good Samaritan right now."

Buffy was quiet, withdrawing somewhat from the reality of the situation. "I have to get Galen some food. I told him… I would be right back. He'll be waiting."

"I can get him something," Angel objected, lightly catching her arm as she moved past him.

"No," Buffy pulled herself out of his grasp. She took a breath, tears faintly stinging her eyes. "I said I would be right back. And… he's waiting."

* * *

Galen lay his head against the bed, staring hard at where he knew the door was. All he could see were bluish shadows, and the longer he stared, the less confident he was that those were even real. The sometimes blended together as his eyes tired, but remained the same when he focused again. The images of blood and decayed remains were figments of his imagination only, too vivid to ever be real, but they kept him from falling asleep.

He was rapidly learning that at least half of what he thought he knew, or saw, was nothing but his own imagination. It made him wonder if he spent half of his life sleeping, then, and had only just woken up. Or maybe this was just an interlude to some sort of living hell. Either way, it surprised him that in all of the stillness, the shadows refused to speak to him. Something had scared all of the nightmares away.

The door to his room opened with a click. He fancied he saw her move through his line of sight, but it was nothing but a subtle shift of blackness.

"You're not Buffy," Galen stated, without so much as a twitch. He listened while his visitor remained motionless.

"You're right," Sarah said, smiling slowly. "How did you know that?"

"This… being blind stuff eventually grows on you," he said.

"So can you hear a hummingbird from fifty yards away?" Sarah asks, creeping closer to the bed. "Catch a whiff of a lady's perfume when she's a block ahead of you?"

"I'm blind, and still getting used to it, not a super hero," Galen answered dully. She breathed a soft laugh and ran a hand through his hair, causing him to sit up and move away from her.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know you, and you're in my room," Galen answered, his voice tense with all of other unmentioned reasons why she was making him uncomfortable.

"You don't know me?" Sarah echoed with confusion, her mouth turning into a little smile. "I remember you, though. From the hospital. We talked about… suicide. Pills and razorblades. Things you swallow down." Sarah judged his reaction to the words, his rapt attention telling her that she was spot on. "You took my hand," she reached out and found his, letting him wrap his fingers around her wrist. "You told me you'd never forgive me if I killed myself. You told me not to hurt myself. Well, I've slipped up. I can't deny that. But you're looking more than a little fucked as well."

"Sarah," Galen whispered, sliding his fingers over the scars on her wrists again and again.

"Yes," she smiled eagerly, a laugh subdued as she met in a hug. "I found you," she said, gently tracing a spatter of bruises that led from his shoulder to the middle of his back. His breath was quiet against her ear, and she felt him nuzzle against her neck in perfect trust.

The slayer stood in the doorway, watching the two. She didn't know whether to be more distraught by the fact that Galen was only separated from Sarah by a modest bed sheet, or that two minutes ago she could have been under that sheet with him.

Sarah barely detected the shift in the atmosphere before Galen lifted his head.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah," Buffy responded, letting Sarah get a good look at her before she entered the room. "I brought you something to eat, and some clothes."

"Thank you," he said, but his words seemed oddly displaced. Sarah still had her arms around him. "This is… this is Sarah." He didn't say anymore, throat tightening just to get that much out.

"I know," Buffy said, glaring at Sarah as she spoke. "I met her."

"I knew her," Galen said quietly.

Sarah ran her fingers over his back. "I'm right here."

"I brought you some cereal," Buffy told him. "I hope you like… Cap'n Crunch… that's what was on the shelf."

"It's not as good as pudding, but maybe it'll do," Sarah said, taking the bowl from Buffy's hands.

Buffy gave Sarah a burning look and moved the girl slightly to the side. The slayer leant down enough to grasp the back of Galen's head and press a kiss against his lips. She broke away after a few seconds, her lips trembling until she could speak calmly again. "I have to go, Spike, but I'll be back soon."

"Okay," he answered, but it might as well have been a breath.

"Don't worry," Sarah said as Buffy headed towards the door. "I'll take good care of him."

"Make it quick, 'cause when I get back I need to bleach the sheets," Buffy growled under her breath.

* * *

The hospital room was deathly silent when Buffy found it, so much so that she wondered if there was even anyone inside. When she entered, however, she saw some of her friends, all reverently gathered around Willow's bedside.

The redhead was deathly pale, her lips chapped and colorless. Her deathlike sleep reminded her of Galen's eerie slumber.

"You came," Dawn said, lifting her head when she noticed her sister. She wiped her reddish eyes, but they were already dry. "Cordelia said you decided to stay."

Buffy glanced around the room. "Uh… I changed my mind. Sarah was telling the truth, apparently. I went back to his room and they were getting all chummy with each other. Did Cordelia already leave?"

"Just for a soda," Xander explained quietly, his voice somewhat hoarse. "We didn't want to freak the nurses out by crowding Willow's room."

"How is she?" Buffy asked, looking at her friend.

"She's in a coma," Kennedy said, a little too harshly. She softened quickly, lowering her eyes and stroking Willow's hand. "Nobody knows why."

"Does Giles know?" Buffy asked, keeping her voice low.

Xander nodded. "He came by earlier."

"This has to be mystical," Buffy said. "We need to get Wesley and Giles working on this, doing whatever they can to bring her back."

"She's done so many spells, it could be anything," Kennedy pointed out angrily.

"And we'll find it," Buffy stated.

"With another spell," Kennedy said, standing up. "You demanded her to use magic. Powerful magic to break even stronger magic that was designed to do god-knows-what. She was addicted to the stuff before. It's destroying her, and it's all you can think of."

"It's all that we have," Buffy said, her voice shaking slightly.

"I'm not letting you cast anything on her," Kennedy said. "If you even try to pull rank, I will take you down myself."

"You want her to die?!" Buffy demanded to know.

"She's not going to die," Dawn asserted, a small sob escaping her.

Buffy shook her head quickly. "No, she's not. I won't let that happen."

Kennedy set her jaw, staring Buffy down. "Find another way."

The slayers held each other's gaze for a long time before Buffy broke away. She looked at Willow and then Xander, but couldn't find any words. Buffy quietly turned away and walked out of the room.

Xander could hear Buffy's footsteps fade away down the hall. The room was silent again, except for the beeping of machines. "Kennedy," he said, waiting for the slayer to look him in the face. "I know you love Willow, but she's my best friend. I love her more than anything in the world. And if there is any way to make her better – any way at all – nothing is going to stop me. Not even you. I just think you should know that."

* * *

"I hope you know, there aren't any more treats," Rachel told Vancouver, stroking the dog's side. The German Shepherd was lying beside her on the couch, head curled up against her thigh. "No more yogurt, either. Eamon needs to make a shopping trip."

The dog nudged against her leg, stretched out and then relaxed again with a sigh.

The lock on the door jiggled and then opened. Eamon came inside, shutting the door behind him, and set his keys on the kitchen table. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and went into the living room, watching Rachel with the dog.

"You're spoiling him," Eamon told her. "Service dogs aren't supposed to be allowed on furniture. Or given vodka," he added. "Or bathed with Old Spice."

"He misses Galen," Rachel said, slowly running her hand over Couver's head and down his back. "No matter what I do, he's depressed."

Eamon was quiet for a moment. "Of course he misses Galen. They were meant for each other. And Galen was taken away. He knows there was something wrong about that."

Rachel tapped Vancouver's nose lightly. "Dogs can sense that. They hate Nazis, even German Shepherds. At least with Couv around, we'll know when they're coming. Werewolves, too."

"I thought you liked werewolves."

Rachel frowned slightly, her eyes distant. "They're too rough. I don't care for that very much."

"Right." Eamon just held his peace, and took a long swig of his juice.

"You need to go to the store," Rachel told Eamon. "We're out of yogurt again. And ice cream. And dog treats."

"I'll pick it up at the end of the week," Eamon told her. "Until then, you'll just have to do without."

Rachel was silent for a beat. "I need tampons. Or a swimming pool."

"Jesus Christ," Eamon swore. "What are you using now?"

"I'm going to use your toothbrush if you don't get me some tampons," Rachel said, not answering his question.

"Why can't you get your own?" Eamon questioned. "It's not like I have a clue what to get."

"How fucking hard can it be? Just pick up something extra absorbent."

"Have you got cash?"

"No," Rachel said, "but you could always go to one of your girlfriends' house and filch some out of her bathroom."

"Great, except I left 80% of the women I've dated for men," Eamon snorted.

Rachel smiled sweetly. "Then if they catch you, you can just tell them you enjoy the filling sensation."

"Now I remember what drove me to drinking," Eamon muttered. "I'll get you your damn tampons, so long as you don't bleed all over my couch."

"I'm totally safe," Rachel assured him. "And pick up some chocolate while you're out, and yogurt, and treats for the dog. We need some comfort food."

"The dog is gonna get fat," Eamon remarked.

"At least he's eating now," Rachel reminded him. "I thought he was going to starve."

"That dog's never going to be happy again," Eamon said quietly. "Because I miss him, too. More than I'd like."

"You should find him," Rachel suggested.

"I've tried."

"You should find him, because we never really settled who gets to have him," Rachel continued.

"I told you, I've tried," Eamon repeated. "He's gone, Rach. Illegal government drug trials, Nazis brain washing, alien abduction, whatever you want to imagine. The bottom line is, he isn't coming back."

"You said those people were supposed to keep him safe," Rachel said.

"And he wasn't there," Eamon repeated.

"You said the man told you he would find Galen," Rachel persisted.

"They're crazy," Eamon told her. "Crazier than you. They have all of these weapons laying around. Axes and swords. And Galen was actually speaking to those people. He trusted them, and they're completely useless." He took a breath and sighed, shaking his head. "There's nothing left to do."

"Eamon," Rachel said softly, leaning towards the Irishman. "Nobody's crazier than me."

* * *

"This has to be mystical," Buffy said. "We need to get Wesley and Giles working on this, doing whatever they can to bring her back."

"She's done so many spells, it could be anything," Kennedy countered, anger evident in her voice.

Willow took a breath, but the last of an actual breath was incredibly unnerving. She wanted to find someway to let Buffy know that she was right, but she wasn't even sure either way. It had to be mystical, there was no alternative. Because if it wasn't mystical… she didn't want to consider that possibility.

She felt dizzy as her friends argued around her. Every emotion had the effect of a tidal wave ripping through her. When Buffy finally voiced the possibility of death, Willow felt like she was being ripped apart from the emotional backlash.

The torrent of emotions quieted just as quickly, as if her friends knew that the thoughts would also tear them apart. She still felt sick, every molecule of her being rebelling, if she even had molecules. As far as she could tell, it was an astral state of being. An out of body experience. There was no touch, no physical feeling, and her friends could not hear or see her.

When Buffy left the room, she quickly turned and followed, trying to keep up with the blonde. She called out, but Buffy didn't react in the slightest, and the redhead stopped bothering to pursue her friend. She had to trust that Buffy would figure out someway to fix this. Willow returned to the room, and heard Xander speak.

"-I love her more than anything in the world. And if there is any way to make her better – any way at all – nothing is going to stop me. Not even you. I just think you should know that."

"Xan," Willow murmured. She stepped towards her friend and held her hand just a hairsbreadth above his shoulder, pretending that she could touch him. "She just cares about me." He shifted, and her hand passed through him. She quickly pulled it back, still disturbed by the sight of her intangibility.

Kennedy spoke, but she words faded away into muted silence, lips still moving. Xander's lips moved in reply, and then Dawn's, but still no sound emerged.

"What's going on?" Willow asked quietly, her voice shaking. She was relieved to know that she was not somehow going deaf, but was acutely aware of the room darkening around the edges until it was partially black with shadows. "Am I… dying?" The idea went through her like a rush of ice-cold water. If some robed figure with a sickle popped out, she was fairly sure that she'd start biting and scratching if she had to.

Then again, that probably wouldn't have any effect on Death. She took a step backwards, away from the shadows and turned to run into the fluorescent hallway, but stopped short, panic high in her chest. The hallway was gone, replaced by an expanse of darkness. She spun around and her friends were gone, leaving just vague remnants of the room and the bed were her body lay. There was a figure crouched by her side, as if paying respects, but the pure darkness that comprised it gave her chills. It stood up, and Willow had the sudden crazy idea that Death had actually appeared to take her soul.

It looked at her, blank eyes inexplicably filled with regret, and sat down on the side of her bed. Willow did not know how she missed it before, but some things just didn't let themselves be seen until it was time.

"You," Willow said to Spike, a sad statement and simple accusation all rolled into one. She let a silent moment pass, washing away any useless hatred. "Am I going to die?"

"Maybe," he answered.

Willow waited for a second, bemused and unwilling to believe that he would leave it at that. When she realized that he wasn't going to add anything more, a horrible feeling of desolation grabbed at her. "At least you're honest," Willow managed to say, her voice trying to leave her.

The blank white eyes stared at her, and Willow knew that he was able to see everything about her in this strange, shapeless space. "You want me to apologize," he said. Willow didn't respond. "Because I damned you to share my fate."

"I set you free," Willow replied, knowing that it was a waste of time to try to blame a ghost for anything. "Kennedy was right. I didn't even know what I was dealing with."

"I won't offer you any closure," he continued, ignoring her. "My actions were just."

"No," Willow had to glare at him for that. "They weren't."

He tilted his head, looking directly into her eyes. "They were necessary."

"I don't believe that," Willow shook her head, turning away for a moment. Those dead eyes unnerved her, but the gaping blackness scared her even more, and she quickly looked back at what still remained, focusing on her bed. She couldn't recognize herself anymore.

"Actions, consequences," Spike said, standing up. He moved around her, hovering, blending into the shadows, on the verge of reality and nothingness. "Actions and consequences, Witch. Inconsecutive, meaningless."

"Like your words," Willow retorted.

"Everything is intangible," he informed her, unfeeling. "Meaning. Reality. Open your guts. You already knew. You just forgot."

"Already knew what?"

"You'd end up here."

It took Willow only a second to recognize her old room in Buffy's house. All of the living colors were washed out, and the space was devoid of any comfort, left cold and foreboding.

She turned around and was met with light. Translucent white curtains hung like a veil over the shattered window. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she looked down at dark stains of blood on the carpet. Willow backed away from the area, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"Why did you bring me here?!" Willow cried out. Her body shook, but somehow it was physically impossible for her to shed tears.

"I didn't," Spike said, looking down at the floor, where black shapes began to writhe. His eyes lifted towards the corner of the room, as if he could see something she didn't. "I don't dream."

"This isn't a dream," Willow shuddered, wrought with horror. "Please take it away. Tell me how to take it away."

"Follow me."

* * *

"What do they think of you?" Sarah questioned, carefully running a washcloth over Galen's blood-spotted skin, washing it clean.

"What do you mean?" Galen mumbled, not particularly wanting the subject to be brought up.

The washcloth moved over his shoulder, then Sarah soaked it into the sink again and wrung it out. She had drawn warm water into the sink, which was now pink. "Don't tell me you're not curious," she said softly. "Do you know?"

Galen shook his head slowly, curling into himself slightly. "I don't want to think about it. If I do, I just get sick to my stomach. They're so nice to me, and… I… I don't know why."

"They feel bad for you," Sarah murmured, letting a cynical tone come into her voice. "They're all so perfect and normal, and they don't understand people like you or me. They just want to help us, take pity on us. We're sick, you know."

"I think Buffy's in love with me," Galen said slowly, mostly to himself. He knew that she was compassionate towards him for whatever reasons, but this was the first time it really sank in that she really was in love.

"Of course she is," Sarah said dismissively. "You're cute and vulnerable. Look, I don't wanna be too forward about it, but I'd hate to see you get crushed. I'm your friend, aren't I?"

"Of course you are," Galen said, growing somewhat concerned.

"Then you need to listen to me, because I only want you to know the honest truth," Sarah said, turning to face him. She took his hands in hers and moved their heads together until their foreheads touched lightly, and kept her voice soft.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure she's showing you her true sides," Sarah said. "I know you want to think the best of her. She has her moments, I'll give her that, but she's deceptive. When you aren't around, she just has… I'm not sure how to describe it. She's got this power trip. I can feel it all the time. She thinks that she's better than everyone else. She's… controlling - that's the word. I'm really afraid that she's only into you because she thinks that you're easy to control."

"She slept with me last night," Galen said. "I wanted it. I mean, nothing happened, but it was…nice." It felt familiar, he added to himself, lost to the thought, but he didn't want to share it with Sarah for fear that she would make it seem insignificant.

"You're too sweet," Sarah said sadly. "I don't want you to get caught up in this and hurt. What would you do if some bad spell came again? More importantly, how do you think she would react to that? Do you really expect her to understand it?"

Galen lowered his head and felt for Sarah's wrists, tracing the scars again with little strokes of his fingers. They made him distraught but oddly comforted at the same time. "I don't expect anything anymore."

"Well, they expect things," Sarah said. She thought for a second and then laughed. "They honestly think that when you say you're okay, you mean it or something. They don't realize that every waking second, or even in your dreams, you're not okay. You'll never be okay. Maybe you're better sometimes. But I'd bet my soul that sometimes you just think about dashing your brains out, and you can't let it go. And when you're with a girl like her, you're alone there. She'll never get that."

"I don't want her to."

"Like you don't want to be understood," Sarah scoffed. "We're all just misunderstood. Come on, tell me that you're not going to miss being in that home. You probably hated it with all of your guts, but you still feel like you belong there."

"I don't miss the orderlies," Galen said.

"No," Sarah snorted softly, letting a smile emerge. "But the people. Okay, some of them are just completely nuts, or assholes, granted, but a few are at least coherent enough to get to know."

"Nuts, yeah," Galen said, and then fought off a grin, remembering Rachel. If anyone would have taken advantage of him, it was her. "Eamon was good, though. You remember him?"

"Yeah," Sarah said, quickly drawing off of his surface memories, and she was flooded with the thoughts that were going through Galen's head. Rachel, Eamon, Addison, Vancouver, and all of the risqué happenings that had gone on. "He sure was crazy about you."

Galen felt a flush and squirmed uncomfortably and took his hands away, still trying to stave off an embarrassed smile. "I think that was all just joking."

"Mm-mm, nope," Sarah teased lightly. "He would've jumped your bones in an instant if you'd let him. And if you really knew how cute he was, I bet you would've rolled over in a second."

"Stop," Galen winced in embarrassment. "I wouldn't have slept with anyone there."

"Not even me?" Sarah frowned slightly.

"You weren't interested," Galen stated.

Sarah paused for a second, unsure of what to say. "Wow. I guess I'm good at hiding things. I was always pretty crazy about you."

Galen tipped his head up, leaning back slightly. "I'd have known," he said, even though he knew he wouldn't have.

"Then I don't think you wanted to," Sarah said. "Or maybe I didn't want you to. You didn't understand a lot of things. You still don't."

"I understand some things," Galen said, remembering his times talking to the Other, and all of the half-truths it would spew at him. He remembered killing things, and feeling the darkness of his dreams seep into his being. "And… I'm learning."

"You've still got a lot to learn," Sarah said. She went to the sink and unplugged it, watching all of the pinkish liquid swirl down the drain. The scent of it was not nearly as good as the scent of Galen's despair, and it would taste even better after she let it brew. He was stronger now, but all she had to do was isolate him and she'd be able to drain him in a few more days. It would seem like a relapse to anyone, although they might figure out what it really was. She was tempted to do it sooner and get the hell out, but the idea of the demon hunters being so helpless and oblivious amused her to no end.

* * *

"Where are we now?" Willow asked after a long moment of being surrounded by shapeless, cloudy darkness.

"Nowhere," the ghost tilted his head, flummoxed. He pushed a hand out towards the darkness, trying to force it to take shape, but he seemed to have lost a significant amount of influence.

"You know, the Ghost of Christmas Past would be spookier than you," Willow informed him, showing no reaction although he gave her a glare that chilled her blood.

"We're in the peripheral," Spike murmured, tilting his head down as he began to move. It seemed impossible to go anywhere in an endless void of nothing, but Willow had to follow him to ensure that they wouldn't end up in separate places or something.

"Right. I knew that," Willow said. She waited a long time with no response from her guide. "Am I supposed to know what that means exactly?"

"What he sees, what he perceives," Spike said.

Willow's eyebrows lifted. "Galen?"

Spike 'hmm'ed and swept his hand through the mist-like air. "His consciousness."

"Consciousness," Willow repeated. "I don't think so. See, I happen to have been in someone's consciousness before. Buffy, for example. It isn't exactly empty. In fact, it's pretty life-like. Granted, there are some things that can't happen in reality, but it's really chock-full of scenery and objects and things."

"He's a clean slate," Spike reminded her. "Everything is unclear, intangible. Confused."

"Of course," Willow said. "Because Galen is confused. He doesn't see anything, after all, and his experience hasn't exactly been beneficial or even sober half the time. His perspective on the world is skewed."

"Exactly."

"Do you talk to him?" Willow asked.

"I exist here. Dreams, memories, thoughts are accessible. He knows me."

"Does he… does he realize what you are?"

"He considers me some dark thought," Spike said. "I give him strength, and cruelty. Necessary evil."

Willow wanted to protest, but knew that she couldn't. "Does he remember who he was?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Why would I?"

Willow sighed, realizing that if he were going to be cooperative in the least, he would have done it already.

"Here," Spike said, pressing into some hard bit of the darkness. Willow stared at it, trying to see if it would take shape, and when she looked around again she realized that the shape of a room had formed around them.

"I really hate this place," Willow muttered.

"It's a tower of nightmares," Spike said admiringly. If this was anything like what Galen saw, Willow wondered what Spike saw with those dead white eyes.

There was more light, and as Willow followed Spike, color actually filled the area. She realized she was in the lobby of the Hyperion. Where she stood, everything was almost perfectly clear. Around her, however, the room quickly became faded and discolored, objects difficult to discern, shadows squirming in the most unnerving way.

"Galen sees this?"

"No," Spike admitted. "I can be where he is."

"He isn't here," Willow said. In fact, no one was. She expected to see Langoliers at any moment. Come to think of it, they probably lurked in the corners, where unnatural nothingness pervaded.

"He's upstairs," Spike said, as if he could hear or feel Galen in some way. It made sense, seeing how they were connected.

"Then why are we down here?" Willow asked. The ghost lifted his head, as if asking her to wait a moment. She felt a presence long before she saw anyone, and that freaked her out a little. "Sarah," she realized as the girl crossed the room. She felt something dark and angry rise off of Spike, and she was feeling the same way herself. "What is she doing here?"

The phone rang, much softer than usual, and Sarah drifted towards it, looking around to make sure the place was deserted. She picked up the phone before the next ring, and spoke in a low voice.

"Hello," Sarah said into the receiver. "Who is this?" There was a short moment as whoever was on the other end replied. "I'm sorry," Sarah said in a tone that rubbed Willow the wrong way. "There isn't anyone here by that name. No, there isn't a Buffy, either. You have the wrong number. Please don't call here again."

"What?" Willow blurted out as Sarah hung up the phone. "Who was that on the phone?" Spike didn't reply, and when Willow glanced at him, she saw that he had reverted to a shadow, the darkness stretching out to reach him, eyes glowing in contrast to the black space.

"No one of consequence," Sarah muttered under her breath, crossing the room to stand before the two. Her eyes were unnatural. "Look at you. Two birds, one stone."

"You won't have him," Spike swore.

"I'll be the death of him," Sarah countered. "But don't fret, lover. You'll be with him, after all. But if you get in my way, I'll kill you in an instant." She turned her eyes to Willow, the predatory gaze filling the witch with terror and anger all at once. "And you with him."

"Hecate, I call upon you," Willow said, feeling a charge of magic go through her. "Strike down this enemy before me, and let her evils return threefold."

The spell seemed to have no effect, but Sarah hissed in anger and moved away from the witch.

"You'll regret that," Sarah spat out.

"My friend is going to kick your ass first," Willow retorted, and Sarah fled upstairs. She looked at Spike, feeling ready for a battle. "I don't suppose there's any way I could beg you to tell Buffy that I'm here and what's going on?"

"I can't make myself seen."

"What, because of her?" Willow asked. "Please, Buffy will be all over her before she gets a chance to even make a threat."

"I can't make myself seen," Spike repeated. "She only sees me because she herself is a malevolent spirit."

"Then we have to get Galen away from her somehow," Willow said. "Can she always see you?"

"Not if I stay in the peripheral, or in deep in Galen's thoughts," Spike said.

"Then we have to go," Willow said. "And you can tell him there."

"I'll be less than a thought."

"It's a good thing you've got me, then."

* * *

"Buffy," Angel almost did a double-take when the blonde came in through the front door. He had just gotten back a while ago, and hadn't expected her to come in after him. "I thought you were looking after Galen."

"Uh, I was," Buffy said. "But I left him along for a second, and then some other blonde girl hottie that he actually knows, and… apparently likes a lot, showed up and swept him up into her talons. I mean… hands." Angel almost wanted to smile at her pout and jealousy, but knew that the cuteness he saw in it was only a thin layer on top of sincere anger and hurt. "I'm not cut out for this girlfriend stuff."

"That's ridiculous," Angel said, slightly uncomfortable because he was in an awkward position to try to console her.

"It's true," Buffy shrugged, unwilling to hear anything besides. She went and sat down on the arm of the couch, folding her hands on her lap for a moment. "I don't connect well. I never really have. I'm always torn between being a slayer or having a normal life. Most girls don't get to choose, so what am I complaining about?" she laughed very lightly and looked up at him. "But when I've tried to be a normal girl, my efforts end up failing in a spectacular, fiery demise."

The door opened again at the end of her sentence, and more of the team returned, now including Giles.

"So," Buffy stood up again. "Loving caretaker girlfriend Buffy, I am not. I can't compete there. But I can always kick some demon ass."

"My kind of girl, anyway," Gunn commented as he strolled across the lobby. He caught Buffy's look and had to chuckle. "I'm just messin' with ya. The last thing I want is fang boy on my tail."

Buffy's outraged look flew to Angel. "You're my curse."

"What?" Angel averted his eyes. "No. I don't… care who you date."

"Liar," Cordelia's voice rang out as she went to the front desk. She gave the telephone a look, feeling as if it had been slightly misplaced, then set aside the feeling and began checking messages and email.

"I hope you've not called me here for gossip," Giles said quietly. He came to stand beside Buffy.

"Nope," Buffy replied, the same quiet reverence in her voice. "Another skin-of-your-teeth dire situation again."

"Indeed," Giles agreed, feeling a bit sickened by the grievous depths of their problem. "It seems that as soon as we stop up one problem, another thing goes terribly wrong."

"This time I'm not letting it happen," Buffy said. "We got Spike back, and now we're getting Willow back."

"Where do you…" Giles trailed off, considering the task with a slight sigh, "suggest we begin?"

"Public enemy number one," Buffy said. "Wolfram and Hart. They did some number on Spike, and I'll bet you anything that they put a whammy on Wil."

"They have very powerful tricks," Giles said cautiously. "If we hope to have any chance of… of bringing her back, we'll have to take a deal of time to carefully research."

Buffy considered this for only a brief moment, and folded her arms resolutely. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

"What are you doing in my room?" Galen questioned. He had heard the door open, but didn't speak until he felt the unwelcome intrusion.

Sarah closed the door lightly behind her, leaning against the frame. "How did you know it was me?"

"I'm getting used to the footsteps," Galen said quietly, but really it was the eerily silent way that Sarah moved that gave her away. Everyone else made a certain noise when they walked. He knew that Buffy wouldn't come anywhere near him now if Sarah were hanging around, and it was starting to trouble him. "I told you I wanted to rest."

Sarah didn't heed this, only took it as vulnerability and slipped closer to him. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?" She slipped onto the bed where he was sitting, blood-flecked sheets spilled around him. His skin was sticking too much, and he was too sore to lie comfortably.

Galen drew a breath while she slid against him. Her fingers moved over his neck towards his jaw, but Galen turned his head the other way instead. He flinched and rubbed his face when his eyes bothered him again, and Sarah dropped her hand. She sat quietly beside him, almost comfortable to be there while Galen waited for his eyes to cooperate again. The spasms weren't so difficult this time, and he was able to relax after a moment and open his eyes. From what little he could see, it was even darker. He was used to the low level of light, but the ink black additions were unnatural. He was all too used to that as well. The shadows filled him with the anxiety to leave, and when he glanced in Sarah's direction, the sight of black leeches – swarms of them – made him startle and then sit very still.

"What's wrong?" Sarah questioned, and he smelled carrion.

"Nothing," Galen kept his head tilted away from her. Then a few noises made him look hopefully towards the door. "Who's downstairs?"

"Almost everyone," Sarah responded hesitantly. "Want me to tell them to keep it down?"

"No," Galen said, disregarding her as he flung a hand out to find the clothes that Buffy had left. "I want you to get out of my room."

Sarah stood up, surprised by his change in mood. She watched, amused as Galen found his shirt and sorted it, pulling on the dark fabric and then fumbling with buttons. "I could help you-"

"Get out," Galen repeated.

That made Sarah pause, tilting her head as she tried to figure him out. It was possible she'd read him wrong. She could always kill the slayer and take her form, but that would take a lot more work than it was worth to avoid the bitch's friends. She just had to be sweeter to him, and savor the thrill of being under his skin, under the radar. "I'll be waiting for you outside," she informed him, slipping off through the door.

* * *

It was a surreal feeling for Willow to be standing in the same room as her friends while they were trying to save her from a mystical coma. Even more surreal was the sensation of only being half in the world, even by standards of an out-of-body experience. She found it was difficult to keep herself in the room and hold the shadows back at the same time. She was afraid that they would reach out and take her in, and knew that they could. It was like walking in a nightmare, and if she lost focus she could quickly find herself in some hellish place.

"Buffy, please listen," Willow pleaded. She could almost hear Spike telling her that it was useless, but she knew that her friends were connected enough that if she pushed hard enough to get the right person to hear her, they would. "It's Sarah. Sarah," she repeated. "She's a demon. A life-sucking hag of a demon. You need to kick her ass for me. Please… please."

Buffy went on reading her book, completely heedless to anything around her. Willow sighed and trembled with frustration, feeling the darkness pulling around her.

"I feel like something is trying to take me," Willow said to the darkness, only mildly comforted to know that Spike was there. "Am I going to die? Is that how this works? The darkness takes me?"

"No, that's something else," Spike's voice came back like an echo. She saw a brief flash of white, and that was it. She wondered what he was doing in there. "These are living nightmares. They want you… to thrive, to have form."

"You mean, like, they don't exist otherwise?" Willow questioned. Spike responded with some vague noise of agreement. She hoped that he would not leave her alone here, but did not want to say it out loud.

"I've found something," Wesley said calmly, raising his voice only enough so that the others could hear him clearly. His lack of enthusiasm did not bode well with Willow, and she came closer to see what it was. Angel was also at Wesley's side, looking over his shoulder. "A powerful spell to keep one in a stasis of some sort," Wesley explained aloud.

"How powerful?" Giles questioned, adjusting his glasses with curiosity.

"Something that Wolfram and Hart would operate with," Wesley said. "Somewhat gaudy but very potent."

"How do you break it?" Buffy asked.

"We need to keep checking," Fred reminded her. "The symptoms have to match… or we might be doing more harm than good." She smiled at Buffy gingerly and then Wesley. "I'll look into this, just in case. The rest of you should keep looking."

"It isn't Wolfram and Hart!" Willow cried. "It's that skanky thing upstairs!"

Willow's heart caught in her throat when Buffy's gaze lifted, brow creasing as she frowned, listening. "Yes!" Willow gasped, almost too excited to seize the moment. "I'm here, Buffy! I'm right here! Can't you hear me?"

Buffy's gaze went through her and turned to the stairs, where Angel was already sneaking a glance. Galen stood at the top of the stairs, feeling the railing and standing perfectly still, head tilted slightly to listen. There was a prolonged silence and then Buffy finally spoke. "Galen?"

"Galen," Willow repeated. "Can you hear me?" She turned to look at Spike. "Talk to him! Tell him that I'm here."

"Why should I?" the demon's voice came back to her, and she realized the shadows had retreated further.

"Because I can help you," Willow told him. She was interrupted by a movement above, and suddenly Sarah was at Galen's side.

"Careful," she said in a sugar-rich tone that made Willow feel sick to her stomach. "I'll help you down," she said, linking arms and fingers with Galen, cautioning with every step as they came down.

"I know what you are," Willow informed her as the demon continued her charade. "It's only a matter of time before my friends figure it out, and then Buffy is going to be all over you."

"Here we are," Sarah said when they reached the last step. Galen stumbled and fell against Sarah's steady hands, her firm support quickly sorting him out.

"Thank you," he said under his breath, smiling fractionally. He closed his eyes when she ran a hand through his hair. Willow found herself backing away from them, unable to bear the scene in front of her, and a little afraid. She watched Sarah escort Galen to a seat, and dimly heard them converse. Willow felt faraway, and then she let the darkness envelop her again.

* * *

"What atmospheric displacement properties does it have?" Fred asked, readying her fingers at the keyboard. She had a database constructed with the information on various spells, hexes, curses, and other mystical forces that could put a witch as powerful as Willow into a coma.

"It leaves a greenish tint in the air where the spell is cast," Wesley said very quietly, scanning the page in the book and double-checking with his translations. "It also leaves behind… the distinct smell of sulfur."

"Sulfur," Fred repeated. "Got it."

"We'll never be able to get back into Wolfram and Hart to see if anything smells like sulfur," Buffy commented ruefully. She leant against the desk, staring out at the lobby where Sarah and Galen sat. They had sat there for an hour at least, talking about the good old days. She didn't remember any hospital experience as fun, but they were so tight. It was like seeing two Scoobies – the horrifying shared experiences just bonded them together.

Angel had sat with them for a while, on his guard, but it was too uncomfortable in the room for him. He finally left with an excuse to clean weapons, and then the tension in the room seemed to drop. The two seemed to forget anything in the room except for one another.

"This is frustrating to say the least," Giles commented, resting beside Buffy.

She watched Galen take Sarah's hands, tracing the lines of her fingers, and her own trembled madly so she had to wring them together. "You're preaching to the choir. If he remembered me…. Well, maybe he wouldn't be sitting with me, but he wouldn't be sitting with her."

Giles made a thoughtful noise and took off his glasses as if to inspect them for smudges. "Ah. I was referring to Willow's case, but I'll just agree with heartfelt woes."

Buffy tilted her head up, feeling stupid. "I'm getting caught up, aren't I?" She turned to look at Giles, face creased with worry and sadness. "Willow should come first. Galen doesn't need my help right now. He's… look at him. He's happy. At least for now."

"It's a miracle he is walking at all," Giles said, tapping his glasses lightly against the palm of his hand. "Let him have his moment. Then he should rest up soon. You'll have to except that he's getting on, and it has to be in whatever way suits him. There's been trauma. Perhaps this life doesn't suit him anymore. He'll go with whatever is right for him, and there is nothing you can do to change that now. The more you push, the more you push him away."

"I just don't feel like she's right for him," Buffy said.

"Then he'll have to discover that himself. He is here, right now. He has redemption. If you care about him truly, you will let him have that, and hope that he gets whatever makes him happiest," Giles said. It almost pained him himself to acknowledge that who he saw was no longer the vampire he conditioned himself to distrust. That vampire was long dead, but had at least gone out in a virtuous blaze. And out of the ashes, a human form was revived, wiped clean of sin. He wondered how much it pained Angel to see him.

* * *

"Remember when we used to do this every day?" Sarah asked as Galen lightly ran his finger tips over the grooves on her palms. She didn't coax out too much of the memory so that he wouldn't notice her doing it. "Maybe you don't. You were sick at the time. Seems like every time I see you, you're sick. You might be allergic to me."

"I met you after," Galen said, although he couldn't exactly recall when he met her. She was just there, but he knew somehow that he had been sick and lost for a long time before he really met anyone at all. "You were the first person I really trusted."

Sarah couldn't help but glow. It was almost nice, in a weird way. It wasn't very often she was able to enjoy feeding off of the pleasant memories. They usually turned painful very quickly. That was good also, but this was just sickly sweet, with the darker parts giving it a smoky flavor. If she played her cards right, this would end brutally.

"We go well together, you and I," she told him. "We complement each other, in fact."

"You met me at a bad time in my life," he told her quietly.

"That's why I'll understand you more than anyone ever will," Sarah told him. She reached out a hand to pet his head again, and Galen let his eyes fall shut, tired. He didn't need to move, but Sarah sort of wrapped herself around him, brushing their heads together. It made him feel weaker, like he just wanted to sleep. Instead he kept holding onto her hand, thumb brushing over the scars on her wrist. They comforted him in the way that the silence after a nightmare comforts a child.

Sarah stopped his hand and brought it up, letting his fingers touch the underside of her chin. "Do you want to feel my face? I'll let you."

"No," Galen carefully extracted his hand. "I remember what you look like." He clasped his hands together nervously, drew his feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch and put his hands into his lap nervously. "I can't remember you hair, though. What color is it?"

"It's blonde," Sarah told him, running her hand through the long locks.

"A natural blonde," Galen murmured. He let himself smile. "I remember. That's my favorite hair color."

"You might have mentioned that before," Sarah smiled in return.

"I think I have a thing for blondes," he commented, mostly to himself.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent taste in women?"

"Not that I know of," Galen said. He felt her move in and, almost like a motion of panic, put up his hands just in time to catch her from kissing him. He wasn't fully aware of her intentions, but felt her breath as she made an amused sound, and it made him uneasy.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm just… tired," he said, relaxing fractionally but not letting her move any closer.

"So am I," Sarah said, sitting back. "But you should really get some rest. You look like death warmed over."

Galen snorted softly. "Thanks."

"Sorry," Sarah said, reaching out to run a hand over his head again. He was so handsome, and smelled so nice with all of that blood just sitting beneath the skin. The dark bruising just made him more enticing somehow, like he was already tenderized or something. "I'll stay with you tonight."

"Thank you," Galen said.

"Come on," Sarah took his hands and very slowly coaxed him into standing up, although it took a while for him to move. "I'll help you get ready for bed."

"Could you wait for me?" Galen asked her. "Upstairs I mean?"

"What for?" Sarah questioned.

"I'm a bit peckish is all," Galen said, lightly touching his side. "I'd like to get a spot of something to eat, and it makes me uneasy right now."

"I'll get you something," Sarah offered.

"No," Galen shook his head. "I'd just like to help myself a bit right now. I'm tired of this thing, people wanting to spoon feed me or something. Just go to your room, and I'll find my way, alright? I don't want to sleep in my room right now. So if you hear something bashing into the walls a bit later on… that'll be me."

Sarah smiled a bit. "I could call to you at least."

"Don't you dare," Galen said, so defensively it made her laugh.

"Alright, Mr. Independent Guy."

"Got that right."

"I'll just go to my dark, lonely room," Sarah said, "and wait for the handsome prince to come and save me."

She backed off slowly and Galen stood still listening for a long time, even after she was long gone.

* * *

Cordelia watched Galen in the lobby for a long time, then went back to find the busy little bees buried in their bookwork.

"The queen finally retired to her chambers," she said to Buffy. When it took Buffy a while to lift her head, she was surprised to find the deeply-entrenched look wasn't just an act.

"What?"

"Did you really not notice that he's alone now?" Cordelia asked. Fred and Wesley resisted a glance, moving themselves closer to their work and continuing with the database quietly.

Buffy looked out from the doorway, barely catching a glimpse of him before she shied back to her book. "Does he need something?"

"You should go talk to him," Cordelia encouraged.

"I can't," Buffy whispered, shaking her head. She lifted her eyes to Cordelia, then looked at Galen again, although she could only see the dark pajama pants she had borrowed from Angel, and his bare feet on the floor, toes curled. "But… you should just go over there for a second. Don't leave him standing there like that. Please."

Cordelia begrudgingly gave into the suggestion. "You need to talk to him," she warned Buffy.

"I will, I just… not right now." It was about all that Buffy could say, and she tried not to look over anymore or wonder if Galen was looking her way, or scratching his arm, or shivering.

Angel came out from the back room, holding a newly polished sword in each hand. He paused when he saw Galen, and the other man looked back at him, following his movements while Angel went to the weapons cabinet. After he locked up the cabinet, he turned back to Galen and found that Cordelia had appeared, almost as a reinforcement of some kind.

"You came all the way downstairs this time," Angel commented, the first thing he'd really been able to say to Galen since he and Sarah came into the lobby.

Galen's brow crinkled slowly. "What do you mean, this time?"

"You don't remember?" Angel asked. "You made it out of your room last time."

"I don't remember that," Galen smiled in spite of himself. "Was it a great travesty?"

"You threw Angel off the balcony," Cordelia said, and the smile evaporated.

Galen wasn't sure what to think about that, or how to react. The mental image did not compute at all, and then he was left wondering how the circumstances came to be, and then he was at a loss yet again, unable to figure out the scene. "What?"

"You don't remember that?" Cordelia lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

"He was half asleep," Angel reasoned. "Probably having a nightmare or something. I shouldn't have gotten so close. I was just worried."

"I-I don't remember doing that," Galen said, massively confused and now distressed. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't you," Angel assured him in a firm voice. "You went through something traumatic. I'm perfectly fine."

"I don't remember that. And that's not okay. How could you be fine?"

"I'm surprisingly hard-headed," Angel said, but that just made it sound so much worse to Galen, who was still having trouble believing it.

"A few Tylenol, and he's ready to go," Cordelia chipped in.

"I threw you off the balcony?" Galen repeated.

"Pushed is maybe a better verb," Angel said. "It's water under the bridge. I'm fine, but… you don't look so well."

"I must not be so well if I can't remember that," Galen said. He froze up when Angel's touched his head, aware of a cool hand pressing his forehead.

Angel felt Galen tremble beneath his hand and let go. "What's wrong?"

Galen lowered his head. "Can I talk to Buffy?"

"She's sort of busy," Cordelia said, feeling lame.

"Oh." The single resigned syllable broke Cordelia's heart in half. "I get it."

Angel quickly rushed to amend what he knew had to be a mistake. "She isn't too-"

Galen's head lifted instantly, in perfect resolve. "I need to talk to her."

Cordelia hesitated. "She's-"

"I don't care," Galen said. "I need to talk to her. It's important."

Cordelia gave Angel a reluctant look. "Buffy," she called. The slayer had been trying not to listen and was hesitant to come out, but knew it would be immature if she didn't. She slowly straightened up her books, trying to kill time. When Cordelia called her name again, louder, she stood up and cautiously came out into the lobby, stopping a couple feet from Galen.

"Buffy," he said.

"Hey," Buffy spoke softly. "I need to talk, too."

Galen stepped forward to close the gap between them. "You need to know something first."

"I already know it," Buffy told him.

"You don't understand. It's about Sarah."

"No, I do understand," Buffy assured him. "I saw you with her."

That made Galen pause, and a wave of relief passed over him. "You know, then."

She nodded, although she knew he couldn't see it. "I get it. I really do, for once," Buffy said. "You two just know each other. I don't know what else to say, except that I don't want to interfere."

"You don't interfere-"

"But I will," Buffy said. "I don't want to. Look, I-I've been giving you signals. Okay, you've been giving me some too-"

"Buffy-"

"- but it's been mostly me, I know it. And I understand why you like Sarah more."

"Buffy, I like you."

"Please don't make it harder," Buffy begged him. "It's okay if you like her. Just don't try to tell me we can be friends." She still remembered what he had said years ago about the mistake of two ex lovers trying to be friends. The passion would burn and consume, no matter what. In this case, the passion would just burn her until there was nothing left.

"That's not what I want at all," Galen shook his head, a little exasperated.

"Oh." Buffy said quietly, as if she understood, but she didn't.

Galen sighed softly, and took pity on her. He reached out, finding her face with his hands and kissed her forcefully. His lips almost missed, but in a split second they had corrected themselves without thinking. Their lips crushed together for a hot second, then lingered sweetly, sending Buffy's heart racing. He let go of her slowly, still clinging to her arm as if she might fall or run away.

Buffy felt dazed when the kiss ended, unable to focus on anything but the phantom pressure she could still feel on her mouth. There was a dark spot on Galen's lips, a bruise, and she wondered if it was painful, and if it was throbbing now.

"Will you listen to me?" Galen asked, breaking her fixation.

Buffy's eyes went wide. "I'm listening."

"Good," he said. He paused to draw a breath and think. "I like Sarah," he finally said. "Hell, I love her -- like a sister. But…"

Buffy waited for a long time, married about what the next words would be. The silence undid her, until she it was more torturous to wait in fear. "But what?"

"I don't want her around me anymore."

That made the hair on Buffy's neck stand up. "What did she do?"

"I'm not even sure if she's alive," Galen confessed. "That thing, whoever or whatever she is, it isn't Sarah."

* * *

**A/N: Feedback inspires, but a little hatemail is okay, too. If you see a jarring mistake, PM me and let me know so I can fix it. I still have no beta reader, I'm afraid, so what I miss... sorry. More parts soon... hopefully sooner than 6 months.**


	29. Made To Heal

**A/N: Hello lovelies! This isn't too too late of an update, is it? Thank you to all of you who are still reading this beast.  
****This is a short chapter, sorry, but it starts pulling things together and I feel like there's a lot in here. Chapter 30 or 31 will see _lots_ of developments - I'll see to that! **

**Things are winding down, I'm still not even sure how it will end, but we'll burn that bridge when we come to it.**

* * *

"What are we doing down here?" Willow asked, still adjusting to the dream-like world she was stuck in. If she didn't focus, she ended up wherever her mind wandered off to, and it was never the happy thoughts filled with naked, honey-dipped girls. The space was dark, with a gritty green luminance that cast shadows everywhere, most imaginary. The cool dampness of the room made her think she was in a basement.

Somehow she knew exactly where Spike was before she saw him move, or caught the flash of his eyes in the dark.

"Nothing," he said, taking wide steps over… what she wasn't sure. Masses began to form, completely covering the ground in front of her. "A few ghosts," he muttered when he came closer to her. She saw the silhouette of someone in the mass, striking into the pile with an ax, a sick wet sound cutting through the air when the blade stuck into something.

"Who is that?" Willow asked. Spike was pulling her away, up a flight of steps. She wasn't sure if he'd actually grabbed her hand, or if the sudden claustrophobia of the space collapsing and panic at the idea of being stuck down there made her rush to follow him. She caught a last glimpse of another dark figure standing amongst hundreds of rotting corpses. "Oh my god!" Willow cried. She was yanked off of the stairs, the door snapped shut behind her, and then Spike slammed his fists against the door on either siding of her, pinning her back against the frame.

"Whatever you think you saw, or know, you're wrong," Spike told her in a deadly tone, punctuated by the slice and crunch of the ax falling into the heap of corpses below her.

"That's you down there," Willow said. "Both of you."

"It's important to him," Spike said, his white eyes rolling as if he didn't even want to admit it. "It was mutual."

Willow frowned at him, slowly turning her head back to the door. She could hear the reverberations of each blow coming through the wood. He grabbed her face in his hand, turning her back to look at him.

"If you listen too hard, you start to hear what you want," he warned her in an angry hiss.

"What's the truth here?" Willow asked, knowing there was a world of lies here.

"It was what he needed."

"You're making him into a _serial killer_," she accused.

"No," Spike just shook his head and let go of her. "He'll be back to cuddling and eating sweets. This is only a nightmare for him to overcome. _You_ have a lot more darkness in you than he does right now."

"Is that supposed to upset me?" Willow asked, although her voice began to waver. "I've done bad things, yeah, and I'm paying for them."

"You're running away from them," Spike accused, his face close to hers.

"I'm not," Willow denied, shaking her head.

"You haven't even seen her since you left her on the floor," Spike reminded her. "You ran. You kept running."

Willow closed her eyes, trying to clear away the images and guilt his words conjured. "I never-" she stopped, realizing her mistake to close her eyes for even a second, because when she opened them, he was gone, and she was standing against the doorway to a room that had long been destroyed. "Tara?"

* * *

"What are you?" Buffy asked, her arms folded as she paced in front of Sarah, who was tied down to a chair. "Some sort of shape shifter?"

"You're all crazy," Sarah shot back. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked fearfully, eyes widening and then she scowled at their resolute stares. "You're all going to jail for life if you so much as lay a hand on me."

Buffy stepped forward a pressed her face against Sarah's cheek. "Oops," she quirked her eyebrows, daring Sarah to try anything. She pulled her hand away just in time to avoid Sarah the chance of biting it. Once again she folded her arms, giving Sarah a disdainful look. "Whatever you did to him, you're going to pay dearly for it."

"You can't prove anything," Sarah sneered.

"Actually, there are a few tests that can help us narrow down exactly what you are," Wesley told her ominously. "Some of them can be… incredibly painful, I imagine. You'd be better off revealing what you are."

"So we can kill you," Cordelia added brightly.

"Aren't you supposed to help me?"

"No," Angel told her. "Not anymore. You lied to us and pretended to be someone you weren't in order to prey on someone we care very much about. You're going to tell us exactly what your game is, and trust me, I have ways of making people talk."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had something to do with Willow," Buffy added, narrower her eyes as she considered the validity of the idea. "She was onto you."

"Keep guessing," Sarah laughed. Her voice was ripe with sarcasm. "You guys are _crack_ detectives."

"I know why that vampire wanted to kill you now," Cordelia returned. "If I'd known where this was going to end, I would've offered to lend a hand."

"You still have no idea who you're talking to," Sarah said, shaking her head in amusement. "You should probably go check on your boyfriend. Cuddle him as _close_ as possible, 'cause that _always_ makes everything all better. I know I got a laugh."

Buffy clenched her teeth, unable to stop the worry from crossing her face.

"Oh," Sarah laughed at the emotion. "You left him alone, didn't you? And still not the faintest clue what goes on in that head of his. I'm sure he's handling all of this _so well_."

Buffy faltered, both stubborn to let Sarah get to her, but unwilling to ignore a good point just because she hated to show weakness. "I gotta-" was all that she said to Angel before turning away. She left the training room, trusting Angel and the others to grill Sarah just as hard. She shut the door behind her and crossed the hotel. Outside in the semi-light of the garden, Fred had been sitting with Galen.

"Hey," Buffy said softly to break the calm silence. She tried to let her anger for Sarah slip aside, not wanting to upset him.

Galen's eyes flickered over to her general direction. "Hey," he returned, managing a small smile and then sort of giving up on it.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Buffy asked, attempting to sound perkier than she felt.

"Fred's been trying to coax me into literacy," Galen said. "She's very persistent."

Fred gave Buffy an anxious look. "I just thought it would be…."

"Yeah," Buffy said, understanding fully. She stood awkwardly, wishing she knew even what to say.

Galen turned towards Fred, reaching out until he touched her arm. "Could you excuse us, love?"

"Of course," Fred said, nearly tripping over herself to give them space. "I'll just – oh… never mind," she laughed nervously, then whimpered and fled into the hotel.

A long moment of silence passed while Buffy agonized over what to say, but her mind was blank.

"You can sit down," Galen told her. "Please. Even just for a bit."

Buffy settled where Fred had been sitting, took a nervous breath and held it, her hands twisting together on her lap. She finally let out the breath after what felt like minutes had passed. She slackened somewhat then, slowly breathing in and out in soft sighs and sat still. She wished she had kept a better eye on him, wished she had pressed her suspicions about Sarah harder, wished that she knew more about him, wished that she could make all of it stop and just fix things.

"I'm sorry I kissed you," Galen finally said. He smiled an then dropped his head, trying to will it away.

"It's okay," Buffy said quickly, finally able to form words. She sounded like an eager teenager and she hated it.

"Honestly I just needed to get your attention up for a second," Galen said.

"Oh," Buffy said, suddenly crestfallen.

"But… that doesn't mean that I didn't really want it," Galen added. "Just… under better circumstances."

"Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be 'better circumstances'," Buffy sighed. "It's always one life-or-death circumstance or another. There's always another apocalypse to avoid, or someone gets kidnapped, or turns evil. And there are _always_ demons and vam- very bad things to deal with."

"That makes me feel more normal," Galen mumbled, almost relieved but not quite.

Buffy frowned, wishing she could understand. "I know it's different for you. But if you want, you could try to explain it to me. I promise I'll just listen if you want me to. I just… there's so much of you that I don't know."

"I don't really want to think about most of it," Galen admitted. "And I can't remember the rest of it. It's hard to explain."

"Okay," Buffy said, lowering her gaze. "But I'm curious about… How did you know she wasn't Sarah?"

"Different things," Galen shrugged. "She was sullen, didn't particularly like relationships. She wouldn't have been so brass, like Rachel. And her hair was black, but that… thing told me she was blonde. And she did her wrists wrong. That's what got me the most. Sarah would never do them sideways. Those were just for show."

"How long did you know?" Buffy asked.

"A while," Galen admitted. "I thought it would be almost nice… pretend she was around. But it wasn't nice at all."

"Yeah, I get that," Buffy nodded uncomfortably. "We're trying to figure out what she is, and what she wants. I should probably help, unless you want me to sit?"

"No," Galen shook his head. "I can't, anyway. Not until she's gone or something."

"But later on," Buffy began.

"Later on," Galen agreed.

Buffy hesitated to smile, biting her lip. "Is that a date?"

"Oh, yes," Galen said suddenly, and she couldn't help but grin at the way he jumped to agree.

"We'll sort this out," Buffy promised, leaning in to gently stroke his hair. She caught sight of the dark spot on Galen's lip again, and the next thing she knew she was just barely touching it with the pad of her thumb. "Sorry," Buffy whispered, blinking as she realized what she had done. She moved her hand away and started to stand up, but Galen caught it instead. She meshed their fingers together, pulling him to his feet in a fluid motion.

"Come on," Buffy said, leading him back to the hotel. "I'll fix you something to eat. You need your strength."

"I need sleep," Galen mumbled. "But I don't want to sleep. I'm tired of being tired."

"You've been worn down a lot," Buffy noted, pausing to brush a hand across Galen's forehead, but he felt cool. "You just need to let yourself rest and get lots of healthy foods."

"If only it were as simple as it sounds," Galen muttered wistfully, but he let himself be guided and he let her pamper him, even though it made him hate himself even more.

* * *

"You're-" Willow trailed off, wanting to say _alive_, but her words were taken away by the red stain on Tara's shirt.

Tara just smiled at her, her face serene and forgiving, but occasionally blurry like the image of her kept slipping.

"You're not real," Willow said, disappointed but trying to keep herself grounded in reality.

"I'm as real as you are," Tara responded, tilting her head and giving Willow a sympathetic look.

Willow paused, looking around the room, although she was terrified of letting Tara slip from the corner of her eye. In this place, she was liable to disappear, or become something else. "Are you like Spike?" she questioned, wondering if she had found her way to some limbo. She wondered if she had slipped too far away without realizing it, let herself be led astray, and now Tara was ready to collect her. "I'm not ready to go," she blurted out.

"You're not going anywhere," Tara reassured her softly. "That's part of the problem."

Willow thought of her own body lying in a hospital room, and suddenly worried desperately about how she would get back to it. The thought of that reminded her of Kennedy, stuck on the other side not knowing if Willow was going to come back. The familiar pain of losing a lover slammed into Willow like a truck. She put a hand to her mouth, trying to will back the thoughts, mentally promising over and over again that she wouldn't give up. Tara waited patiently until Willow could manage to speak again.

"What's the other part of the problem?"

"You need to let go of me," Tara said.

"No," Willow exclaimed before she could stop herself. Her fingernails dug into her palms and she suddenly wished for something to hold onto, desperately needing the illusion of being grounded by something real. "I won't."

"I'm always going to love you," Tara said. "But your friends need your love more than I do. They need you to be there for you. And Kennedy. You know she cares about you."

"I-"

"_Don't_ say something you'll regret," Tara warned her, as if she knew Willow's thoughts, and she was suddenly convinced that Tara did. "She believes in you."

"We should have been together forever," Willow said, feeling like she was finally admitting to a crime.

"We were," Tara smiled sadly. "I'm happy. Really. There are worse ways to go. I didn't even feel it."

"I tried to bring you back," Willow told her, tears flooding her eyes although she tried to stop them.

"I know. I know what you did," Tara said, and Willow sobbed helplessly. "Come here," Tara beckoned softly, and Willow went to her, unable to resist if she wanted to. She collapsed into Tara's arms, suddenly wrapped in embrace, and it felt all too good to be true. Tara moved to sit on the edge of the bed, drawing Willow down with her until the redhead was settled alongside her, holding her while she cried.

The tears only lasted for a while, too exhausted to be sad for very long. "You can't shut your heart to love, baby," Tara said softly when the sobs had quieted for a long time. "Don't ever forget that. You have people who love you very much."

"I just missed you so badly," Willow groaned softly.

"I'm okay," Tara whispered, stroking her hair. "It's very peaceful for me… _when you're happy_."

Willow sat up and wiped away the tears that hadn't yet dried. "I can be strong."

"Just let yourself be happy," Tara sighed.

Willow turned and looked at her, stretching out a hand and resting it lightly over the blood-stained spot where a bullet had made Tara's heart explode. "Does it hurt?"

"Not like you'd think," Tara responded calmly. She laid her hand over Willow's, pressing slightly harder than Willow had dared. "It's okay," she said, guiding one of Willow's fingers to the edge of the wound. It grazed over the skin and then slid into the wound a few centimeters. Tara looked down at her shirt as a flow of blood made it's way down. Willow watched the stain on Tara's shirt grow, mesmerized.

"Now it can heal," Tara said, looking up and smiling at Willow before she faded into thin air.

The woman was left sitting alone with blood-stained hands. She stared at them for what felt like forever, only vaguely caring when Spike slowly walked into the room.

"I get it," she said quietly, before Spike started any "did-you-learn-your-lesson" pestering. She didn't want to accept it, but she somehow finally could.

"There's too much of that," he commented vaguely. Willow looked up to realize that it wasn't Spike, but the human reflection that crossed her path, hovered, and then sat down beside her.

"I saw you," Willow said as he settled beside her, taking a similar stance by sitting on the very edge of the bed. Her hands were still open in front of her, still unable to stop looking at the blood on her palms. "You were in the basement," she stated. "With all of those bodies. You're finally up."

"Hm? Oh…" She felt him tense beside her. "I've been up for a while."

Willow nodded and slowly curled her hands closed, keeping the blood inside, like it was part of her. "It's weirdly easier when you face it."

"Hm. Facing the nightmare," he murmured. "Sounds like the title to a novel of my life."

"This is what you see all the time, isn't it?" Willow asked. "It's what you live in. That must be hard."

"Don't patronize me," he barely growled, voice low and strained. "I'm tired of it." He paused and sighed softly, lowering his head and running and hand through his hair. "But I'm so tired."

"You have people who love you." She reached out to touch his shoulder. He lifted his head at the same time she realized what she'd done, and they both stared at the blood on his shirt, dismayed by the mark. "You have people who care about you," she said, resolute.

"Yeah," he said slowly. Willow wasn't sure if he believed it or not. In a place like this, she wasn't sure what she believed, either.

"Spike said you had to learn something," Willow remembered, trying to sound off-handed. "I'd understand… if you wanted to tell me."

There was a long silence, and Willow worried that he hated her for asking, but then he finally spoke. "Spike?" he echoed slowly, as if the name came back from some recess of his memory, and she realized her mistake.

Willow tried to be brusque and push past it. "Yeah, he said--"

He slowly furrowed his brow, shaking his head while she spoke and then cut her off. "People keep saying that. To me. Saying that name. Saying it… _to_ me, about me. Buffy… she _keeps_ calling me that," his voice rose in pitch as the realization distressed him. He turned to her, his expression a mixture of betrayal, confusion, and anger. "Why does she keep doing that?"

Willow hesitated, troubled. "You look like someone that we knew."

"But I'm _not_ him," he said, distress mounting. He rose to his feet and Willow jumped to hers, panicking. "I'm not anyone," he continued. "You're all being so nice and caring because I look like someone else."

"No, that isn't it at all," Willow shook her head, trying to discourage the line of thought.

"It is," he shrugged already realizing it. "Nobody just takes in people. Nobody wants to be the girlfriend to a complete head case. Buffy loved him, didn't she."

"Oh god. Look, Buffy loves _you_."

"She doesn't know anything about me," he shook his head. "I'm just a stand-in." The thought hurt him like none other, feeling an immense amount of suffering connected to the idea. He felt as if he'd been in the situation before, like it was a cycle he couldn't escape. Even though he couldn't remember what had happened before, he acutely felt the pain from those black spots in his memory. "I can't do this again," he whimpered, suddenly clutching his head.

"Galen?" Buffy's voice cut through the fog, suddenly lifting the darkness. She stood holding a bowl of diced apple, looking like she might drop it.

"Buffy," Willow said, eyes wide, as she realized she was in the lobby of the Hyperion, and had been sitting on the couch with Galen. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to," Galen echoed. He shuddered all over, whimpering, "What is this?"

Buffy rushed to him, slowing down to approach him cautiously and rubbed his arms. "You're okay," she cooed. "You're safe. Galen, what's wrong?"

He laughed scornfully but couldn't open his eyes, too stressed out for that. "It isn't real."

"I'm real," Willow burst out quickly. "You can see me. You can hear me. Buffy can't. You have to tell her I'm here!"

"What isn't real?" Buffy set the bowl down on a table, devoting her attention to Galen, but he remained tense and withdrawn, slowly shaking his head with the occasional whimper. "She's doing it again," Buffy determined, setting her jaw and casting a glare towards the training room. "She's doing _something_, and this time I'm going to stop her. You're okay, Galen, sit down," she coaxed, pulling him slightly towards the cough.

"_Don't touch me_," Galen growled in such an inhuman voice it chilled her and she instantly let go.

Buffy stared at him, torn between frustration and fear, and decided to turn all of it into anger instead. "Stay here," she muttered, headed off to the training room.

Willow almost flinched when the training room door slammed. She could feel the air shift, almost throwing her off-balance, something that she never felt in physical form. "Galen, you _have_ to tell Buffy I'm real."

"I don't want to talk to her anymore," Galen shook his head.

"I know you're blind, but you can't be _that_ blind," Willow snapped at him angrily, and he dropped his hands to glare at her, except he could still barely open his eyes. "She's crazy about you, and you know it. I know you feel the same way."

"I don't _feel!_" he shouted out, frustrated.

"That's not true."

"But I wish I didn't," he muttered, sinking down to the floor and collapsing in an exhausted heap.

"I know it can hurt," Willow told him, slowly kneeling down in front of him. "I've been dumped and cheated on and left behind."

"It's like I'm not here. I'm still not here. I can't even see myself but apparently it doesn't matter. I don't exist."

"I'm the one that doesn't exist," Willow reminded him. "But I'm _supposed_ to! I'm stuck like this. You can help me; they'd see you then."

"As crazy," Galen muttered, lowering himself to the floor.

"No, no, I promise," Willow persisted. "You can relay things to them to prove I'm really here."

"I'm just so tired," he muttered, sounding absolutely miserable and then passed out shortly after.

Willow's eyes widened and she slowly rose to her feet, feeling chilled. She noticed that Spike's eyes were on her, and he looked strangely forlorn.

Willow stared at Galen collapsed on the floor, wondering how long he'd lay there before Fred or Buffy came back and found him. She looked around at the unnatural shadows, and then at Spike who stood like a pure form of shadows, and was reminded of the image of Death.

"Is he dying?" she asked, the first thing that came to mind.

Spike moved closer, his form hunched with what she guessed was concern, if only an abstract interpretation of it. "Yeah."

Willow didn't expect that answer, stumbling away from both of them in surprise. "I thought I was just— How did I know that?"

"You're connected to him through me," Spike reminded her. "If he dies, you're going down too."

"And what if I'm the one who's dying?" Willow asked him. "This is all some roundabout way of showing me that I'm dying, right now, possibly on the brink of the very definition of _dead_. And if it works one way, it has to work the other way. Whatever happens to _me_ happens to you, and if you die, Galen dies. Isn't that it?" His unblinking stare was enough of an answer, and she pressed on. "One way or another, we all die together. That's why Tara spoke to me today and not any other day. That's why you've been leading me through this nightmare."

"How you deal with _your_ nightmares is your issue," Spike snapped at her. "I didn't let you walk through his subconscious just to piss around. There isn't anyone else who understands him more than you do now. Ungrateful little arse," he muttered darkly.

"But _you're_ his other half," Willow said.

"I'm his demon," Spike sneered. "I don't do sappy _'open your heart to love'_ speeches. If you want to live, _fix him_."

Willow shook her head quickly. "I don't know how to do that."

"Don't be stupid," Spike glowered. "When he dreams, he'll listen to you. You'd better suss out a bloody good thing to say to him."

* * *

**Don't forget to check my profile for a link to my everyone-friendly writing comm. There's a new story or chapter to something every week, so you don't have wait months to read more from me. Love you guys always. See you in a bit with a new chapter.**


	30. Restitution

**Restitution**

**A/N: Sorry to Nevalie that this took longer than I said. But knowing how much you hated to see this end, you'll probably thank me for drawing it out, because this is it!**

* * *

"This is the one," Giles finally said, in a decidedly unconcerned way while Sarah whimpered and snarled, straining against her bonds. They could have chosen an easier way to identify which type of demon she was, as Wesley had brazenly pointed out, but Buffy had opted for a more painful method.

"What is she?" Angel asked impatiently, only giving the woman a brief glare before he focused on Giles. Sarah had grown silent, waiting for them to figure it out themselves.

Giles turned a page in one of his decrepit texts. "A Mailaeth demon," he murmured, looking over the description. "Similar to a succubus. They feed off of the energy of their victims, attacking them on the spiritual level. They are imitators, supposedly preferring to slowly feed on one victim for a length of time."

"Should've seen it," Angel muttered to himself.

"Well, there's certainly almost no way to notice," Giles objected. "These beings draw off energy. The victims just become weaker and weaker until they die. Why she chose to get close to him is beyond me. She could have been miles away."

"She _should_ have been miles away," Cordelia said, arms folded. "And she could have fed off of any Tom, Dick, or Harry, but she chose the wrong one. Now Buffy's gonna kill her."

"You can't just kill me," Sarah countered, sure of herself. "You're good guys, or as close as it gets. I'm human."

"You only disguise yourself as human," Wesley corrected her. "You're anything but."

"I'm _helpless_, then. You've got me tied up. As bad as you make me sound, I don't have any cool super powers. It isn't a fair fight."

"Not a fair fight?" Cordelia asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Attacking someone in their sleep isn't a fair fight. Preying on someone who's sick by pretending to be their friend isn't a fair fight. We're _way_ past 'fair fight.' As soon as Buffy says the _word_, you're history."

"Better not say that word, then," Buffy commented softly from the doorway. "We might need her."

"What happened?" Angel asked her, immediately concerned.

"Galen's getting worse," Buffy told them, trying to keep it simple, but it was obvious that it was tearing her up inside. Her composure remained, regardless, and she gave Sarah a hard glare. "How do we reverse whatever she did to him?"

"There is no reversing it," Giles answered, a bit hesitantly. "She has been drawing energy out of him. With her stopped, he should get better on his own."

"But she isn't stopped," Wesley stated. "As long as she's still around, she can attack him and there's nothing we can do to stop that, unless we-"

"Please, I'll go away," Sarah interrupted, pleading. She struggled weakly against her bindings, finally losing the will to keep up the fight. "I'll leave Los Angeles. I'll never even _think_ about him again. Just let me go."

"And let you hurt other people?" Buffy asked, then shook her head, biting off a bitter anger. "If I could grind you up and feed you to him to reverse whatever you did to him, I would. I'd feel bad about feeding him something so disgusting, but I'd do it. I can't just let you go. Is there any way that we could bind her powers?"

Giles took a breath and removed his glasses. "There's-"

"Do it," Buffy said, turning on heel and leaving them again to go back to Galen's side.

* * *

Xander immediately went to the hospital after he got off work. He could barely focus on the job, but it distracted him from thinking too much about Willow. Life had always been chaotic. It kept things interesting. He never liked the moments when his friends were seriously injured, though, but with so many mystical influences in life, it seemed easy. Buffy could come back from the dead, Willow could heal critical injuries. Since it was a mystical coma, he figured that anything could be happening. She could wake up with some neat story to tell about how her house fell on a witch and she befriended a scarecrow and had to find a wizard.

He didn't expect to find Kennedy sitting with the doctor and just looking so shell-shocked. Her eyes were wet, but she just looked angry and refused to speak to him.

"What's going on?" Xander asked the doctor, his voice on the very edge of panic.

"Your sister's condition is worsening," the doctor told him in a soft voice. "Her vitals are dropping, and there is no longer any response to stimuli."

"What does that mean?"

"It's unclear at this time, but her retrograde is cause for concern. We have her stabilized, and it's still very early to tell, but if her condition doesn't improve over the next few days, the chances will be slim that she'll wake up."

"But people wake up from comas all the time, right?" Xander said. "You can go out one day and wake up ten years later."

"It does happen," the doctor admitted, reluctantly. "Comas rarely last more than a month, and as I said, it's still very early to tell."

"Thank you," Xander said and let the doctor leave. He went to Willow's bedside and stood beside her for a long time before kneeling down. He took her frail hand in his and pressed it to his lips, making a gentle, pleading gesture to some unknown god who might show mercy.

There was no sound in the room except for the rush of air through the machines, and various steady beeps that monitored every failing function in Willow's body.

"She stopped breathing," Kennedy finally said, breaking the long-held silence. "Those machines are all that's keeping her alive now. My girl's a fighter, Xander. She's a goddess. She's better than this."

"We're gonna find out what's wrong," Xander promised her, his voice hoarse. "No matter what it takes. I'll sell my soul for her if I have to. She isn't going anywhere. Not now."

* * *

"Nothing's happening yet," Willow muttered to herself, impatiently pacing through the lobby. She watched Fred and Buffy tend to Galen. Buffy refused to let him be taken upstairs again, and instead had him laid out on the couch. Buffy settled down with him, keeping a strict vigilance while her friends dealt with Sarah, the group coming and going quietly at odd intervals.

The phone call came, and a quiet murmur of shock went through the group about Willow's condition. There was an instant change, a switch from quiet anger and resolution to worry and grief. Willow tried not to listen, only allowing the news of her impending death to drive her further into the unearthly world in order to get out. The atmosphere grew heavier when the Scoobies left to see Willow. Buffy was torn, but Angel and Fred swore to look after Galen, and the efforts turned to finding a cure for Willow while Gunn and Angel dealt with Sarah.

They left the Hyperion like a flood that was uncertain of which direction to move. When Angel left with Sarah, it seemed her window of opportunity was wide open. The shadows became pliable to the touch. All she had to do was push and pull the right way. Working with magic came naturally to Willow. It was far easier to tap into the darkness than it was to tap into the light, but she had since learned that if she didn't take the easy route, the light was much more worth it. In the same way, she delved into the shadows, knowing that they worked with the abstract of dreams, but determined not to let them dissolve into nightmares.

The abstract swallowed her until it seemed she was standing in a directionless void. If she focused… light took hold of the space, creating shapes and structure. A luminescence seemed to surround her and followed her while she searched quietly for Galen, knowing that when he allowed it, she would find him.

* * *

It was dark, quiet, nice. Painful, but nice. The stillness and the darkness could take the pain away if he sat long enough, but it was almost more than he could take, and every passing moment he wanted to shudder and scream.

The light hurt. It was beautiful. It revealed everything. Things suddenly had shape and form. He was forced to give them meaning. He saw trees, and those were good. He saw the fire on his hands, and that was bad.

"It hurts," he mumbled, aware of the woman who brought the light. He didn't want to look at her, too ashamed of how beautiful she was, and how horrible he was. He felt the blood on him like a weight, and felt the loss of his hands more acutely than the physical mutilation of them. Glass shattered, ripped and tore away at skin. Again and again and again. All his fault. He hid his hands lightly, knowing she'd already seen but unable to bear how her eyes burned him.

"It doesn't have to hurt," Willow answered softly. "It's just a dream."

He shook his head, nearly rolling his eyes, but he didn't want to be mean. "Lesson the first: it's _always_ real."

Willow paused and reconsidered, frowning at how he crouched, his hands shredded, dripping spots of red on the floor. She remembered everything was a metaphor here.

"I know what you must think," she said, unsure if that were actually true, but she was willing to go with it.

"You couldn't," came the timid response.

"Lost," she said simply. "Lost," she repeated, "and alone. Everything is dark here. Everything is bad. It isn't your fault," she added when she saw him cringe. "It's not your fault; it's just all you know. You learned the ugly with the good. Very ugly things. I think you do remember some things, but they're the worst memories, the worst fears. You're worried about what you really are."

"Shouldn't I be? I've done bad things."

"So have I," Willow said, crouching down next to him. "Things I can never forget, never fully get over, but I have to face them." She gently took his hands, unfolding them to the light. "Things look worse if you keep them to yourself. It'll tear you up inside," she murmured, pausing in pleasant surprise when the wounds on his hands seemed to lessen. She smiled and squeezed his hands lightly, making him grimace slightly and close his eyes, the muscles contorting. "You gotta let it go," she encouraged him. "You're not half as bad as you think you are."

"But I'm still bad," he said, opening his eyes again. "And Buffy… she doesn't… she doesn't deserve that."

"Buffy," Willow repeated. _Of course_, her inner voice berated lightly. She didn't expect Spike's guilt to be _this_ deep-founded. "This is about Buffy."

He was silent, his hands fidgeting.

"You really _like_ her," she said, almost teasing in a very light-hearted way.

"Doesn't matter."

"No, it means _everything_," Willow insisted, staring into his blue eyes.

There was a short pause, during which Willow could clearly discern all of the pain in him. "She doesn't even see me."

"She does see you," Willow insisted. "Remember when you first came here, and all she did was care about you?"

"And I was such a screw-up mess," Galen muttered with a self-depreciating smile.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're still a screw-up mess," Willow smiled in return.

"I could only hope so. She seems to like it," Galen noted softly.

"She likes _you_, Tiger" Willow emphasized, gently chucking Galen under the chin.

"I can't see why," Galen shrugged softly, his good humor dropping with his mood.

"In case you haven't noticed, you're cute," Willow informed him. "But you're something else, too."

"A train wreck?" Galen asked, attempting humor again, but the pain in him was evident.

"You're strong," Willow told him. "She can see it. I can see it now. There's something about you she could tell from the start. And it's not because you look like anyone."

"It's because I have a tendency to bleed all over the floor?" Galen guessed.

"You're hot and you're cold," Willow said. "You're helpless one second and the next you kick royal ass. You're strong one second, and the next… you're dying."

* * *

"There may be some favors that I can call in," Giles began, almost reluctant. "Perhaps some past acquaintances of mine could help."

"No magic," Kennedy said, her words staunch but her voice weak.

"It's mystical," Buffy objected in a low, confident voice. "You know it has to be. One of the spells-"

"One? How about all of them?" Kennedy questioned, raising her voice. "How about every single one?"

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it again, shaking her head. "That's not how it works."

"She used to get nosebleeds," Kennedy said. "How do you know for a fact that this was just because of one incident?"

"Because of what's been going on lately," Buffy said. "This couldn't just _happen_, not without a reason."

"And what could that be?" Kennedy asked, folding her arms.

"I don't know yet," Buffy admitted. She scowled at Kennedy's glare. "Look, you aren't the only one with problems right now."

"I seemed to notice you're never short of them," Kennedy muttered.

"Galen is getting worse, and that-" Buffy stopped before mentioning Sarah, pausing to think about the woman. It only took a second for her face to become dark and resolved. "She didn't have to prey on just one person at a time," she said, looking to Giles for confirmation. "Willow was more powerful than any of us. Maybe she saw it somehow."

"Saw what?" Kennedy frowned, too confused to focus on her anger.

"Sarah," Buffy said. "She was killing Galen, and he knew what she really was. Willow must have gotten in the way somehow." She shook her head slowly, fists clenching. "I hope Angel hasn't let her go yet, so I won't have to hunt her down." She turned to go when Giles' hand stopped her, his grasp on her arm startlingly firm.

"Buffy," Giles said simply, "There was no spell to stop Sarah. I assure you… Angel didn't let her go. You won't find her."

* * *

"I wish I knew how to help," Fred murmured quietly, keeping a close eye on Galen. He was deeply unconscious and hadn't stirred an inch since the others left. At the same time, Willow's health was in decline as well. She knew that each were equally important, but she was equally terrified for both, especially Galen because at the moment she was responsible for him.

Angel had tried to reassure her that he only needed rest, and Wesley confirmed there was nothing else they could do at the moment, but Fred couldn't shake the cold clutch in her heart. She couldn't escape the feeling that was watching over a dying man as surely as her friends were watching over a dying woman.

The color of life in him seemed to be crushed, replaced only by those dark bruises that made his pale skin even more stark in contrast. He felt cold to the touch, and the best that she could do was cover him and desperately try to think of ways that she could revive him or give him his strength. She was supposed to be a genius at solving problems, but her mind was blank. All she could do was shudder and try not to think about what would happen if Galen let go before Buffy came back.

Maybe it was as simple as that.

"Don't even think about doing anything until Buffy gets back, mister," Fred chided under her breath so that Wesley wouldn't overhear and think she was losing it. "You have to be here for _her_, too, you got that? You're stronger than this. Maybe you don't think so, but Buffy sure does, and I know you wouldn't want to disappoint her. She's coming back soon, and you've got to be here for her, because she needs some saving, too."

* * *

"I'm always dying," Galen said, like it was just a statement of fact.

"What do you mean?" Willow questioned.

"Don't – don't even start that!" Galen wrinkled his nose, disgusted at her. "You've seen it, you've all seen it. I'm always bleeding and vomiting everywhere. I'm so _tired_ and… _hungry_," he told her. "I feel sick all the time. Half the time I can barely fend for myself."

"I want to help but I don't know how," Willow told him honestly, almost pleading to give her an answer.

"Nobody does," Galen shuddered. "The best thing I've got is-" he stopped short, almost unwilling to say it outloud.

"Buffy?" Willow probed cautiously, watching his almost innocent eyes while he nodded. "She loves you."

"I… love her," Galen said, pausing as if it were hard to get the words out. "More than… I think I even can. She loves me because I remind her of someone."

"If that were true, she wouldn't accept you for who you are," Willow informed him. "She's seen the worst of it already."

"Not the worst of it."

"_Trust me,_ she knows you," Willow asserted, putting her hands on his shoulders. "She knows exactly what you are, and she still loves you. It doesn't get better than that."

Galen tried to avoid her steadfast eyes and nodded nervously. "She's beautiful," he breathed. "She's the best thing I have."

"And she wants you," Willow told him, trying to lift his spirits. "She wants to jump your bones like nobody's business and I think… I think that you could make her the happiest girl."

Galen snorted softly, but it was more of a sad, mocking sound, and he shook his head.

"You can't get your happy ending if you don't just reach out and take it," Willow told him, frowning.

"I don't see it," Galen said, still shaking his head. "Everything hurts. I feel dead and awful inside and I don't know how to make it go away. Did Sarah do this to me?"

"I don't think so," Willow said slowly, her hopes for both of them unraveling. "One of us is dying… or both of us. You have to promise me you'll fight, and I'll fight, too. You've got a beautiful girl just waiting for you to open your eyes, and I've got-"

"You've got a kick-ass girlfriend who thinks the world of you," Galen cut her off.

"Not to mention they're both hot," Willow said, although referring to her best friend that way made her cheeks felt hot. Then her chest felt hot, and she couldn't breathe.

"Smokin' hot," Galen agreed, the bitter agony in his stomach still clutching at him, his body screaming at him for something but he didn't know what to give it. He looked up at Willow, watching the shock and confusion on her face as she tried to endure the rapidly spreading pain. "Are you okay?"

* * *

A flurry of alarms shattered the relative silence. There was barely a second's pause before the wing was thrown into turmoil, with nurses racing into Willow room and barking out orders, sending the entire area vibrating with activity. Kennedy was just as quick and flew into the room amidst the confusion.

"She's going into cardiac arrest," a nurse called out after a glance at the shrieking monitors. "Get the crash cart."

"Baby?" Kennedy cried out, trying to get close to Willow, who seemed strange and deathly so separated from her and stuck to machines.

"Get her out of here," someone said, and another nurse pushed Kennedy back to the door with hurried apologies, shutting Kennedy outside as soon as they were in the hallway. The others had been held up at that point already and were left watching through the glass while the mortal battle played out.

* * *

The lobby had grown strangely chilled to the point where Fred shuddered and held herself, wishing sorely that Angel would return sooner. Wesley was absorbed in books at the office and the silence was deafening.

Fred murmured softly to herself, trying to keep up positive thoughts in the bleak face of reality. She'd mentally gotten on to how Angel would save the world and kill anything big and bad that tried to cause trouble when a small jerk of movement went through Galen's body.

She stirred, intuitively apprehensive as she scrutinized him. "Galen?" she asked, no sooner getting out the name before he seemed to gasp softly and choke up, drawing no more air. Fred rushed to him, lifting up his head, but the movement was gone even as her hands shook fiercely.

"Galen," she repeated, then waited, watching him desperately for any reaction.

His breath slowly left him, and as it did so did all of the tension in his body. He settled into an unnatural stillness, and didn't breathe in again.

Her hands were tremulous when she reflexively tried to wake him up. There was no reaction, as she knew there wouldn't be but vainly prayed for. Fred pressed her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse but only feeling a coldness that made her shudder.

"No, no, no," Fred muttered softly between urges to cry. She picked up his hand and looked for a pulse again. It proved to be futile and she was left clutching his hand, trembling, wondering what she was going to tell Buffy, or even Angel. Her mind blanked out at the very idea, unwilling to accept such a sad, mortal thing. She didn't realize until many second later that she was still holding onto his hand, as if frozen in that one point in time

His skin was almost chalk white, she noted, devoid of any flush of life or other colors aside from the dark bruises that were still barely faded. She turned his wrist over, then withdrew and examined him overall. He appeared gaunt and sickly, and Fred briefly recalled the past days and weeks. She sniffed and covered her face with a tremulous hand, then fled.

Wesley hadn't noticed the happening until Fred nearly ran through him, her panicked actions instantly driving up his concern. "What's happened?" he asked, standing up while Fred ravaged the fridge, seeming unaware of small noises of fright that she made.

"Galen's dead," she told him, grasping bags of pig's blood in her hands.

"He-" Wesley shook off the news, more rattled by what she was doing. "Fred, what do you-"

"I'm going to save him," Fred said immediately. "I know how."

"Y-yes, but that isn't the-"

"I know what I'm doing," Fred said, her voice sure but at the same time small and a bit afraid. She brushed past him again, this time with Wesley hot on her heels, although he hesitated and watched when she knelt at Galen's side again.

The first bag was torn up furiously, the second momentarily forgotten as it hit the floor. She grabbed his head even as the first drips of blood hit his face, then held him up to feed. To Wesley's amazement and horror, Galen moved, choking and swallowing under the stream of blood. She waited for a second for him to respond and then let him continue. He fed ravenously, then weakly tried to clutch at the bag. Fred shuddered and let him have more, but didn't let him grab onto the bag. When it was empty, Fred moved away, then Wesley grabbed her quietly and pulled her back from Galen. To his uneasy disbelief, Galen merely wiped the blood from his face slowly, again and again in a daze.

"He doesn't know," Fred whispered, vocalizing what Wesley barely wanted to even suspect.

* * *

"Clear."

Kennedy felt a pang in her heart when she watched Willow jerk again under a jolt of electricity. As soon as the jolt passed, she lay lifeless again, the machines still blaring out a solid note that set a knot in Kennedy's stomach.

The commotion in the room slowed down, staff glancing at each other in the heavy atmosphere. Nobody wanted to say it, but too much time has already elapsed without any response.

"Call it," Kennedy heard someone say dimly from within the room. Inside she was urging them to keep going, unwilling to accept defeat.

"Kennedy," Dawn whispered, wishing that the slayer would scream or cry or show some other emotion than staring steadfast at Willow. "I'm sorry," she managed to say, but Kennedy wasn't listening at all. She shivered and looked at Giles, who was just as resolute if not for the fine mist in his eyes.

"Come on, baby," Kennedy said, barely audible. She pressed her fingers against the glass, brushing them over Willows' heart.

There was a single beep from the monitor, then Willow sat up, as one might from a bad dream. Kennedy took one gasp of relief and went back into the room while Willow dazedly began to strip off different wires stuck to her body, and the astonished doctors and nurses admonished her to keep them on and lay down.

"Goddess," Kennedy said to Willow, expressing complete faith. Willow leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Kennedy, yanking at various cords in the process, but refused to let go of her.

Dawn squealed when she came in and tried to join the hug, babbling to Willow about how afraid she was and what they'd tried to do to help. She finally left him be and went to stand beside Giles, who was trying to calmly sort a few things out with the doctors.

Willow murmured into Kennedy's ear, and then saw Buffy over Kennedy's shoulder. "Did Galen make it?" she questioned.

* * *

.

* * *

"Were you the one who turned him?" Cordelia asked, giving Angel a disbelieving look. Angel glanced at her, then turned his eyes down and remained silent. "When were you going to tell us?"

"Angel didn't turn him," Fred interrupted softly. Angel looked up again for an explanation, as surprised as the others were, but for reasons that that only he and Buffy knew. "He was a vampire from the start."

"No," Buffy said. She shook her head. "No, Angel would have known. _I_ would have known. We would have known that."

"I don't think you could have," Wesley said. "Wolfram and Hart was doing something to him. He wasn't turned recently. Even he isn't aware… of what he is."

"How do you know?" Buffy asked quietly, almost dreading the answer.

"I had to find a way to keep feeding him," Fred explained slowly. "I mixed the blood into a pudding cup. He said it reminded him of what he used to eat at the hospital."

There was a long silence, in which Buffy slowly wrung her hands and stood up. "I guess we're back to square one. Do we tell him, or not?"

"We can feed him, keep him calm," Angel said. "There's no reason why he has to find out."

"What if he just starts going crazy?" Cordelia asked.

"He has a soul," Angel pointed out calmly. "I'll keep an eye on him. If it starts getting bad, I can help him. Now that we can feed him regularly, he'll even get better than he was before. Much better."

Buffy heard a small commotion in the lobby and stepped out of the office for a moment. Galen was stroking a German Sheppard, grinning madly when he gave the dog a hug.

"Where the hell have you been, G?" Rachel demanded to know.

"She's been going crazy with conspiracies," Eamon explained, offering a hand to help his friend to his feet and then swearing softly when he saw the fading bruises on Galen's arms. "You look like hell, mate."

"I was abducted by aliens," Galen said dryly, then with real apprehension added, "How can I be sure you're both really you?"

"Shut up," Rachel retorted. "You disappeared off the face of the planet. You're gonna have to answer to us, not the other way around."

"Oh yeah, that's Rachel," Galen muttered. "What about you, Eamon?"

"Finding you isn't enough to put an end to my torment?" Eamon questioned.

"Shut up and kiss him already," Rachel urged. The complacency to the command she received and the voracity with which the command was fulfilled made her shriek with laughter. Galen himself burst into laughter when the kiss stopped, though Rachel continued to try to press them back together. There was a babbling of their arguing and laughing in the air, and Galen began to explain to Eamon in a conspiring tone how he had found himself a girlfriend.

He started to tell Rachel details about his new love with almost mythical descriptions. Buffy smiled to herself a little bit and returned to the office with their conversations and bickering behind her.

"We can't tell him," she told her friends. "But I think he'll be okay." She glanced down for a second, uncertain even as she considered it, but could still hear him talking and laughing. Nothing pleased her more, and she smiled at the thought of hearing that for the rest of her life.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who has been very loyal over the past two years I spent writing this. The story will eventually be revised and a final version posted, but that's unlikely to happen soon. **

**Please R&R and look forward to a sequel!**


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